The Picture of Asami Sato
by AsamiFuckinSato
Summary: Beauty and youth are ever fleeting; a portrait only captures a single moment in time. Lest a curse fall upon such a portrait, one's body may face the consequences of immortality. Arrogance can only be met with tragedy, hypocrisy will find destruction as its ultimate fate. Yet the challenge of capturing a young woman's image draws in a young prince-what shall become of his muse?
1. Ch I: Be Afraid of Nothing

-Chapter I-

_"Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing."  
― Oscar Wilde_

...

His lapels swayed with him as the commander entered the quarters of the General, the force of the salty sea air making itself apparent as the heavy steel cabin door drew out against the current. Though Commander Bumi was well over ten years his senior, the young General Iroh the Second was the prince of the Fire Nation. He found his commanding officer and close friend sitting at his desk, sipping slowly on a hot ceramic glass of tea, seemingly under the control of an expansive oil painting resting on an easel of an apparently beautiful and wealthy young woman.

"Who is she?" Bumi remarked, resting his elbows on the high headrest of Iroh's burgundy leather desk chair. Their long, almost family-like relationship allowed the high ranking officers to break formalities behind closed doors. "I mean, I can tell you painted it, Iroh. It's pretty good, for someone who only paints in his spare time." Stunning, Commander Bumi wanted to remark; yet the fleet commander wasn't fond of feeding the Prince's ego any more than it needed to be. Truly, it was the best painting he had seen his commanding general accomplish to date. "Maybe you should send it to a gallery back in the city? I'm sure you could make some quick pocket change 'offa it—"

"No," Iroh interrupted, fervently shaking his head in protest to the idea. "It's too… Personal. I could never put it on display, let alone sell it."

"Ohhh," Bumi muttered, focusing his eyes on the two-dimensional visage before him, faintly recalling the young woman's identity. "Isn't she… The Sato girl? Pretty one, though she seemed a little young for ya."

The Prince's head dropped, releasing a heavy sigh. "It's not like that, Commander."

"Well, then what in the name of Agni is so important about this painting?"

"She terrifies me."

...

His expensive boots clacked along the marble floor, a satchel of oil paints tucked underneath his left arm. Since Hiroshi's arrest, the Sato estate seemed barren; the young General had mentioned to the new owner of this mansion in passing that he painted in his free time.

"_You should paint me_," she had smiled, placing a hand over his own; he found her friendly grin unbearable, and could not say no. "_I'll pay you, of course… Assuming I like the work_," she teased.

Iroh turned back to glace at the foyer, wondering why Asami's butler had remained behind. He didn't know his way around the overwhelming halls, nor where to find his muse. A lingering echo of hard rubber against stone reminded him he had stopped. To say the least, the Fire Nation prince was not accustomed to such harsh treatment from the staff of an upper class residency; perhaps the Sato estate had fallen on hard times, had to let a few maids and butlers go. It wasn't an unreasonable conclusion to draw—cobwebs were gathering in the corners of the ceiling, evidence of neglect was subtle yet ever present.

"General!" A familiar voice chimed in his left ear.

He turned his attention around in a militaristic snap; she was prancing down the hall towards him, a towel concealing a damp bathing suit. Spheres of water on the glimmering marble floor drew his attention to the pool Asami seemed to have come from; a pale granite courtyard, reflecting light down the grim, dark hall.

"I'm so sorry—Mr. Chang was supposed to tell you where you could find me, but he seems to be neglecting his duties of late." She drew the towel up to her shoulders, flipping her long, black hair over the soft white cloth. The color contrast was mimicked in her dress-like swimming attire. "I hope you didn't get too lost; these halls can get a bit confusing."

Iroh nodded, averting his gaze down to his materials. "Unfortunately, Ms. Sato, I seem to have forgotten canvas."

Her fingers snapped sharply after a brief awkward pause between the two. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I think there's a few unused art supplies in a room upstairs, perhaps a canvas or two, even." Asami lazily tossed the towel on the floor, and bolted ahead of Iroh, grabbing his sleeve as she led him to the grand staircase in the foyer. "It's this way!"

Above was the wide art room, the dusty curtains concealing its contents from the light of the sun. Asami dashed over and drew the velour drapes open in a swift moment, the layers of dust scattering in the impeding light as a sentient, terrified rush of snow would from the same warmth. Iroh spotted a handful of canvases in the northern corner, a variety of sizes stacked vertically against the wall. "Anything else you'll need besides a canvas, General?" Asami glanced over, heading for the door. "If not, I'm going to change into something dry."

Iroh paced silently around the still somewhat dark room, dismissing the young woman with a wave of his hand, glancing over the materials that had been left to collect the dust of time. He couldn't picture any member of the Sato family being particularly into the fine arts; strange that they'd have a room specifically for painting. His white gloved fingers traced along a pine easel, one of many piled in the center of the room. He found a light switch as he approached the door to the hall, and flicked it on; the art room illuminated with a warm chandelier overhead, revealing more supplies he could use.

Sliding down the hall in her delicate house slippers, Asami threw the door open again. "Where exactly would you like to paint this painting, General?"

"It's truly up to you, Ms. Sato," General Iroh nodded.

Picking up a stool, Asami urged Iroh to collect anything he'd need to complete the work of art. "I'd imagine a place with nice lighting would be ideal, right?" Her mind drifted to the greenhouse attached to the mansion, a beautiful room consisting of almost entirely glass. Her fingernails teased the gentle ferns, slightly neglected of the proper fluids without a full staff. Asami frowned, not sure when the poor, wilting plants had been watered last. She backed up to the entrance and cranked a pump as Iroh caught up with her at the entrance.

"It's a wonder I don't fire all of them," Asami chuckled; water released in a mist above the flora from sprinklers along a pipe near the ceiling. "Taking care of these plants isn't that difficult. My remaining butler and maids treat this place as though there's not enough of them to keep the place together; it's not like the mansion is a castle or something."

"Perhaps they need a raise," Iroh coughed.

"I can't afford that," she muttered in response, turning the handle back to the off position. The mist cut off, leaving the plants as glistening emeralds and rubies. Asami placed the stool in a central seating area near the back of the greenhouse; the view through the windows behind her overlooked the expansive grounds of her estate, and her father's workshop was conveniently out of view.

Iroh sat down, placing the canvas on an easel before him, and began to sketch out what he wished to paint.

...

"So, General—if she scares you so, why are we returning to the city?" Commander Bumi inquired, sitting on the prince's desk to get a closer view of the painting. "I mean, unless you had some subtle meaning in that which I didn't pick up on, terrified normally means you'd rather not see her if you didn't have to."

Iroh rested his elbows on his desk, placing his chin on his intertwined fingers. "That's not the original, not the first painting of her I have made. It's frustrating—I can't seem to capture her perfectly with the medium." He stood from his seat and marched over to his closet, pulling out multiple canvases; each a different portrait of Asami, all with different lighting, different backgrounds, different perspectives of the young industrial titan.

"I told her—I couldn't accept her commission for the work until I was satisfied that I had perfectly captured her image." Frustrated, the General threw his arm out in the direction of the painting upon the easel. "That one—that's the most recent attempt, and the closest I feel I've gotten."

Bumi shuddered, not quite sure what kind of dark box he had opened with his longtime friend. "They're all pretty… Impressive, S-sir." The Commander shrugged back, keeping out of the way of Iroh as he pranced over to the canvas upon the easel.

"It's been four months, Commander," Iroh muttered into the painting. "How can I emulate her beauty, portray it on canvas, when she is not here before me?" His fingers traced down the texture of the dried, thick paint which depicted Asami seated in a maroon leather armchair, her posture surreally proper, her long black dress flowing past her ankles to the floor. "But this is what terrifies me—I cannot capture her image, I cannot match her beauty with paint and a brush."

"She'll like it, Iroh," Bumi attempted to reassure him, picking up Iroh's original from his stack of scattered attempts. The light in the greenhouse contrasted harshly with Iroh's most recent, dark interpretation. Fingering through the progression, every depiction of Asami seemed darker… yet more fantastical, more alluring, less attainable, less of the physical world. Bumi hid a frown, his back to his commanding officer. "I'm sure she'll like it just fine, Sir."

"She'll like it just fine," the commander repeated himself once more.

...

* * *

_keep an eye open for chapter II tomorrow!_


	2. Ch II: Something Tragic

-Chapter II-

_"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic." _

_-Oscar Wilde_

_..._

The officers pulled up the drive of the Sato estate, their shoulders embellished with their crisp, red uniforms. The pavement beneath the thin tires of their military issued Satomobile rocked the vehicle left and right as it proceeded forward slowly up the steep hill, around and under sets of ornate, plaster-pale Earth-Kingdom-style gates and walls.

Iroh recalled the grasses of the early summer, his last memory of this place. Now, the foregrounds of the mansion seemed dry, yellowed with the changing of the season. As the Satomobile pulled to a stop in front of a massive pair of dark mahogany doors, the prince pulled himself out of the passenger seat of the car and opened the trunk to remove his last painting and his satchel of art supplies.

"Why'd you bring those?" the Commander questioned in an almost mocking tone as he shut the driver side door. "I thought we'd just be dropping that one off."

"Perhaps," Iroh shook his head, unsure of what events would transpire. "But I need to feel confident that this painting is respectable enough for Ms. Sato to hang in her home."

Bumi walked cautiously up the large, marble stairs to the doors, and pulled on a lion turtle-like brass door knocker, shoving it forward into the brass receptacle with a heavy, metallic knock. The same Mr. Chang who had neglected to lead the Prince through the mansion properly abruptly drew the doors open as Bumi considered knocking again, but the force of the doors drawing inward snatched the circular lion turtle out of his gloved hands.

Mr. Chang bowed respectfully, unable to recognize Commander Bumi as anything more than a man of the military. "Good afternoon, sir," the butler annunciated dryly, "May I ask what brings you here?"

Pointing over his shoulder, Bumi looked back to his commanding officer. "This guy," he laughed as the General approached.

Iroh nodded, the mannerless butler seemed to recognize him, if not vaguely. "Sir, is Ms. Sato in today? I apologize for calling unannounced, but my fleet has just docked today."

The butler nodded. "She's upstairs, in her office." The suited man stepped to the side, opening the doors widely to let the uniformed men through. It seemed Mr. Chang was still neglectful of his full duties; he remained in the foyer's entrance and the men proceeded up the grand stairs. Iroh glanced at the grand tapestries that adorned the foyer's walls, shades of auburn, golds, and blacks seemed to dominate the colors of the fabrics. Paintings were hung even higher; most were landscapes, yet one stood out to the young general as particularly odd.

Above the longest tapestry, at the highest point above the split in the grand stairs was a painting of a beautiful woman with strong, emerald green eyes and crimson red lips. Her hands were crossed upon her lap, which was accented with a beautiful, black silk dress. The woman had the same overwhelming presence as Asami, yet he knew it was not her—this woman was older, at least thirty.

"Whoa," Bumi interjected, looking up at the painting with his fellow officer. "Now _that's _a woman."

"She's my mother," a quiet yet confident voice chimed in from the southern fork of the staircase pinnacle, glancing up at the portrait with the men. "My father had that done just before I was born. It's one of the few images I have of her that's not a black and white photo." Asami grinned, and rushed down the staircase to the landing the men were paused on.

Iroh quickly bowed, but before he could recover from his bend, Commander Bumi had already taken the young woman's hand. Iroh grimaced—Bumi was infamous among the harbor towns for his borderline womanizing charm.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," the older commander's grin stretched out widely. "General Iroh here has told me quite a bit about you."

Iroh coughed loudly, attempting to interrupt his subordinate. "Ms. Sato, I've come to show you my finished work—I think I'm nearly there… Almost done with the painting, that is."

"That's wonderful," Asami chimed in. "Can I see it?"

The canvas was, in fact, tucked under Iroh's left arm, covered in a light piece of fabric. The prince glanced down to the object, then back up at Asami, and felt an overwhelming wave of anxiety rush up his esophagus. "Actually, Ms. Sato—I'd like to finish it here. I need you to model for a few finishing touches."

The general glanced back up to the portrait of Asami's mother once more—the painting was eerily similar to what he had painted of Asami. "It's nothing like the original, however—the lighting is darker, and I'd probably need you in a black dress." Iroh returned his focus to his subject. "Assuming you have one, of course."

"Sure, I think I have one of my mother's somewhere upstairs—I'd just need a few minutes to change." Asami paused, pondering an appropriate location. "The parlor is probably the kind of dark room you have in mind. Have Mr. Chang kindle up the fireplace, if you want." Asami's dark hair whipped around behind her in a flash, as she ran back up the southern branch of the stairs to her room.

Upon entering her bedchamber, Asami paused and looked over to her vanity—below a vase of white rhododendrons was a small picture frame of a pale young man, an actor on stage, portraying the role of Prince Zuko with the Ember Island Players troupe. A heavy hand signed the photo in a thick, dark ink—_For the Mai to my Zuko, sincerely yours—Tahno. _

A sharp knock came to her door; Asami flipped the frame down briskly, whirling around with the black silk dress clasped between her fingers. A single, pollen-coated white petal wilted off the bouquet and floated down, landing atop the back of the picture frame. "C-come in," Asami replied to the forceful inquiry.

The General peeked in, averting his gaze from Asami's direction. "You're dressed, miss?"

Her fingers traced along the velvet back of the frame, picking up microscopic yellow flecks of pollen. "For the moment. I'm still looking for some… Accessories."

...

Asami had stumbled across the play by chance; she had heard rumors that the Ember Island Players troupe was on tour with their latest script, a saga of the lives of the retired Fire Lord and his wife. Though the Players were not a respected theater company, and had a small budget to work with, Asami was curious about the play their fliers had described.

Sitting in one of the few boxes in the small theater, Asami had felt captivated—the acting prowess of the lead role was intimidating. One glance at the playbill piqued her curiosity even further; the young man playing the Fire Lord was none other than Tahno, a former pro-bender.

Scarves of fire released from his hands in dramatic fight scenes, his scar was on the wrong side—everything about the play was horrible, yet entirely phenomenal, simply because of the surprising talent the young man portraying Fire Lord Zuko possessed. Asami decided to attempt to meet him backstage.

With the playbill clenched between her fingers nervously, Asami approached the makeshift dressing room, and knocked. The flimsy door swung open; dark scar make-up was half washed off, and the actor was halfway between fixing his hair back into its typical curly swoosh.

"Hi, there," He sighed nonchalantly, then raised a curious, make-up coated eyebrow. "May I help you, miss?"

Asami stammered to find her words, the plan to talk to the young actor completely lost to her unease. "H-hello!" She smiled as pleasantly as possible. "I just… I saw the play, and despite the horridness of every other element—I can't help but recognize your talent. You're a phenomenal actor, Tahno."

Tahno pursed his lips at the backhanded compliment, which was followed by a drop of his jaw upon the realization of who the young woman was. "Wait. Aren't you—you're one of those kids that hangs around the Uhvatar, aren't you?" He snapped his fingers, as if they'd trigger his memory further. "Yeahh—you're the Sato girl. What in Agni's hot hell are you doing in a slum like this?"

"Well, I saw a flier for the play—it looked interesting," Asami admitted. "Truly, you were the only redeeming element."

Tahno's posture changed dramatically; his elbow raised up along the doorframe, his torso leaned forward into the young woman's personal space. "Well, it'd be a crime to turn down compliments from someone such as yourself, Sato."

...

"What's that you're hiding?" Iroh questioned Asami, the most he could muster as an attempt of a flirtatious tease.

Asami forced the frame further behind her, her arm tossing more pollen free of the rhododendrons. "N-nothing, just a photo."

"Of what? Or who?"

Chuckling as he approached, the prince attempted to snatch the image from behind her, thinking it could possibly be an image of himself she coveted so. Her face flushed in anger and embarrassment as he twisted his gloved hand under her arm, taking the frame from her closely clenched hands.

A bubble of anxiety crept up his throat, filling his chest with dismay. "Who is this…? Your—boyfriend?"

"I think you should leave the room now, General…I still have to change." Asami dodged, turning her back from the uniformed man. "I'm sure the Commander would like to return to the harbor sometime today—the sooner you finish this painting, the better."

"What is he? An actor?" Iroh lectured. "Asami, someone like this is most beneath your station, unbecoming of a woman of your social status—what if he's just using you for your money?"

"Please leave the room, General," Asami barked. "I won't ask you again."

Iroh backed out of the room slowly, the door snapping shut as he left.

* * *

_-chapter 3 should be up soon!_


	3. Ch III: Monstrous and Unlawful

-Chapter III-

_"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

"What was I thinking?" Iroh muttered to himself aloud, stumbling clumsily down the grand staircase. In his moment, he had forgotten entirely why he had even visited the young woman in her bedchamber. Typically, the young prince would find it unbecoming of himself and his station to do such a thing—but a young actor, a poor man with such deathly, snake-like features? _What did she see in him_? The greater disregard for one's station was undoubtedly on Asami's part, at least in Iroh's mind. His gloved left hand reached up to massage his temple once his black leather shoes found the marble ground of the foyer. Iroh paced slowly towards the dark parlor, feeling noxious, somewhat confused, but most of all—_angry_.

He didn't want to be angry at her. Asami was probably lost, more confused than he was. She had no family anymore; her father was going to spend life in prison, and her mother died over a decade ago. Iroh tried to reason with himself as he passed through the entry to the parlor, noticing Commander Bumi enjoying a hot cup of tea and a cigarillo, seated at one of the fine, green velvet armchairs in the dark room.

"I don't think Ms. Sato would appreciate you smoking in here, Bumi—and since when do _you_ smoke?" Iroh caught himself, perplexed by the dirty habit he had never seen his friend and fellow officer display before.

"I found them in a box on the bureau over there," He gestured behind him with the small cigar, a small fleck of ash flying off with the movement of his wrist. "Probably belonged to the girl's pops. I'd bet he doesn't need them now, being in prison and all."

"That still doesn't explain why you're inhaling poison." The prince muttered indignantly, swatting away the fine, grape scented smoke.

A large huff released from the commander's chest, muffling his words partially. "Some of the pleasures in life need to be explored. If I were thirty years younger, and my father hadn't been around at the time to criticize me for the behavior, I'd probably have taken up smoking sooner." He tapped the slowly shrinking wrap of tobacco to a crystal ash tray. "What is life if you never try anything dangerous, sir?"

"Longer," Iroh coughed.

He raised the cigarillo to his lips once more. "Which is meaningless if you never actually_ lived_."

"Commander, I digress—your father probably disapproved of the bad habit for a reason; smoking_ kills_ you." The prince walked over to a window, opening it up with a brisk heave. "He was the Avatar, after all—one of the greatest in recorded history."

"He also died young from being in a hundred-year coma. I'd hardly say that my father truly knew how to live."

Iroh took the thin cigar from Bumi's hands, snuffing it out in the ash tray. "No smoking around Ms. Sato, Commander." He dusted his fingers of the grape tobacco odor. "Consider that an order."

"Yes, Sir." Bumi chuckled.

…

"So, Ms. Sato… May I call you Asami?" Tahno teased. "I'd hardly consider myself one for formalities."

"Of course," Asami laughed lightly, tossing a clump of noodles around on her plate. The Water Tribe ghetto of Republic City wasn't a dangerous place; the food was decent, yet cheap, the people were poor, yet good-natured and generally kind. Though Asami felt out of place, Tahno had insisted on taking her to his favorite restaurant.

"Asami," Tahno began again, trying to reclaim the point at which he had paused to throw out formalities. "What are your favorite kinds of flowers? Every girl has one, correct?"

She tapped her finger to her chin as she thought for a moment. "I suppose that's true—my favorite, though? White rhododendrons."

"Wonderful," Tahno grinned, taking a sip of his warm sake. "That's good to know."

Asami forced a pleasant smile, returning her attention to her dinner. She couldn't help but wonder what exactly she was doing here—true, she admired him as an actor, but this felt like a _date_. It was almost as though this young man had made some sort of extraordinary conquest out of her, which was always something Asami resented. Her chopsticks twirled around in the center of the noodles, taking some up with the force of the motion. She raised the clump to her mouth, and ate quietly.

"You do know I'm fond of you, right?" She questioned him after chewing, dodging her way around the subject of her distaste for being pursued. "You don't need to impress me—I'm already impressed with your talents."

"My talents?" He chuckled. "Princess, I'm starting to have a hard time telling the difference between your affections for me and your admiration of my character. It'd almost seem they are one in the same."

"Perhaps that's true," Asami shrugged, raising her glass of tea to her red lips. "Is that dishonest of me to admit?"

He lunged a hand forward, grasping Asami's in his own. "Not at all."

…

Asami took a seat upon a plush stool before Iroh's easel silently, the aroma of smoked grapes still floating in the air. "What's that sweet smell?" She inquired, looking to the Commander as she straightened out the wrinkles in her dress. The prince quietly approached her, adjusting her posture to meet his nearly completed work.

"One of your dad's grape cigarillos," Bumi explained to her. "If ya like it, you can find some in the box on that desk over there."

At once, Commander Bumi was met with an unforgiving glare from the general, who was still trying to match the settings he found in his painting. Asami raised a curious eyebrow.

"I was never aware that my father smoked," she chuckled momentarily. "However, that doesn't surprise me—he probably used them because he was so upset about my mother." Asami shrugged, turning to face the blank backside of the canvas upon the easel.

Immediately, Iroh came from behind the artwork again to readjust her shoulders. "Ms. Sato, please refrain from too many sharp movements," he muttered as he stood back, comparing the muse to the painting once more. Iroh then picked up his pallet, and began to make adjustments to his work.

Stretching his arms around the back of his neck, the commander turned to Asami. "Have you seen it yet? The prince here actually has a degree of talent for this kind of frilly stuff. Figures, growing up in a volcanic palace and all…"

"I haven't seen it," Asami spoke, keeping her posture as still as possible. "The General won't let me, and now he seems to be in a terrible mood for things that are none of his business."

Iroh cringed, practically hiding behind the canvas. "If the two of you can stop talking about me as though I'm not here at any time, I'd truly appreciate it."

"And what would those things be?" Bumi shrugged, continuing to ignore the prince. "I'd suppose they're none of my business either, but you two can't leave me out of the loop. That'd be terrible form on both of your parts."

"It's… This young man I'm seeing." Asami sighed, forcing herself to maintain her form, despite the urge to frown. "Not that he has any right to a say in the matter, but the General seems to think that this man is… beneath me."

"Which is entirely true," Iroh muttered, his brushstrokes growing heavy with his temper.

Bumi slid back in his seat, his posture becoming more of an issue of comfort rather than manners. "Eh, love," he waved a dismissing hand. "Do you have any scotch?"

Asami raised a single finger out of her strict posture to point to a cabinet just past the commander's comfortable seat. "You can probably find some over there."

He hoisted himself from his seat and strutted over towards the makeshift bar, pulling open the doors of the cabinet to reveal a small stash of expensive liquors in fine crystal carafes. They looked untouched; months of dust had collected on the tops of the clear stone containers. Bumi blew the dust off gently, then fetched a glass into which he would pour the liquid. "Love is complicated," he began. "Look at my brother—Agni, look at me. I almost fell for the prince's mother there." The commander chuckled heartily, taking a sip of the drink. "There certainly wouldn't be an Iroh Jr, had that happened. I also wouldn't be answering to him, if he were my son."

Iroh grumbled. "If you were my father, _I wouldn't be me_, commander."

"Exactly," Bumi raised his glass. "I wouldn't have named my son after his great uncle he'd never meet, for starters." The commander then returned his focus to Asami, leaning over the armrest that faced her. "Anyways, sweetheart—don't listen to that old stiff behind the canvas. He's probably just jealous of this poor kid. Listen to what _you want_. If I were young and stunningly beautiful, I'd take advantage of all that life has to offer. Live for today, you know—that kinda stuff."

The prince placed his pallet down, and stood back from his painting. "I hate to interrupt your session of bad advice, commander, but I believe I've finished the portrait."

…

* * *

_-Chapter 4 is a work in progress. Reviews are always much appreciated!_


	4. Ch IV: Not the Invisible

-Chapter IV-

_"It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances. The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible..."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

Standing up slowly, Asami approached the easel. Her hand wrapped around the wooden stand as she turned to face the canvas, still coated in a wet layer of fresh oil paints. Instantly, her perplexion transformed into a radiating smile; the image was almost too perfect, down to the furrowing of her disgruntled brow from her earlier interaction with Iroh. "It's like looking in a mirror," she muttered in amazement, her fingers dancing millimeters above the freshly painted surface. Asami almost completely forgot about the disagreement she had with Iroh; she abruptly threw her hands around his neck and hugged him.

"It's beautiful!" She exclaimed. "Do I—you really think I look like that?"

Iroh's stoic facial expressions finally met their crack. "Of course," He returned her smile. "I wouldn't have insisted on coming here to finish it if I didn't want the portrait to look just like you."

Bumi stood behind the two, having left his beverage on an end table. "At the risk of inflating your ego," he smirked, raising his gloved hand to his chin, "I'd have to admit—this is your best work of art, Sir. Too bad she won't look that way forever."

A drawer was pulled open at the bureau, and Asami took a seat. "Commander, I know you're no gallery owner—but about how much would you value that painting at?" Her right hand drew closer a pen and ink well; in her left was a small booklet of paper.

"Probably around… Eh, 400 Yuans, Miss?" Bumi raised a single brow, returning to the armchair that neighbored his glass of scotch.

Asami began to scribble on the paper, the scratches of the fountain pen serving as the only noises in the room. Her lips silently mouthed the number—_four hundred Yuans and zero hundredths_. Her hand broke momentarily, letting the ink dry, then returned to the small paper to make a swift, looping motion. She tore the paper from the notepad and stood from her desk, holding it flat in her hands to assist the ink in drying.

"Four hundred for—this?" Iroh questioned, realizing why she had asked the commander's opinion. "Miss Sato, I insist—that is far too much. Particularly when you consider how much of your time I've wasted with this project."

"Nonsense, General." Asami handed him the check. "You have your materials to worry about."

"These things, paints, canvases, are hardly worth that much… You have your business, too." He started to hand the small document back to her, but she refused to take it. He frowned, folded the check in half, and placed it in his pocket. "I won't cash it," Iroh grumbled.

"Fine," Asami tossed her hands in the air gently, dismissing the topic as she returned to her seat at the bureau. "If you won't accept the commission, at least attend a play with me tonight."

The two uniformed men exchanged glances at the proposition. Before Iroh can protest, Bumi raises his nearly empty glass high in the air. "Of course we'd love to come," he belts out. "Gotta meet this controversial man of yours, don't we, Miss Sato?"

"That's precisely why I'd rather not attend," Iroh muttered, not loud enough for either of the others to understand. He then raised his head up from behind the canvas and spoke up. "Of course, we'll need to be shipping out soon this week. We cannot stay in the city too long, Miss Sato."

Nodding, Asami led the gentlemen towards the door. "Perhaps you two could go for some lunch? I'm sure my cook is in the kitchen at the moment; she'll fix you up anything you'd like." She stayed in the doorway for a moment as the two looked back. "It's down the hall and to the left—I'll catch up in a few."

As the two red uniforms vanished past the corner, Asami walked back over to the painting, grazing her fingers along the sides of the stretched canvas. The oils were almost dry, yet they still held the stench of turpentine—something the young prince used to thin out colors in certain areas. The chemical odor was almost pleasant; Asami drew it in slowly, glaring into the strong green eyes that flawlessly mimicked her own. "If only you aged in my place," she released a whispered chuckle. "Then I'd never have to concern myself with the idea of fading away."

…

The dingy alleys of Republic City always seemed pungent with a musty odor; a visible cloud of fumes trapped between the skyscrapers of the surrounding neighborhoods. The corporations flanked the borough to the south, and the towering slums of Dragon Flats trapped the pollution in from the north. Asami didn't find herself here often, unless she were passing through to visit her friends. She rarely did that now—there was nothing left for her on the island in the bay.

The night air often camouflaged the haze, which in turn blocked out the few stars when it reflected the ever-illuminated lights of the city. Nights in Republic City were a warm purple, never black.

Tahno met Asami's small entourage at the stage entrance before the show. "Asami! I'm glad you're here," He grinned widely, noticing she was flanked by two men in uniform. "What, you're not here to arrest me, are you?" Tahno snickered.

She returned his smile, a bit perplexed by his ecstatic mood. "Tahno, is everything alright?" Asami paused, not quite sure how to take his odd behavior. "You're unusually…happy." She felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to notice Iroh had already begun to leave the alleyway for the main entrance.

"Princey-boy and I are gonna go find our seats, Miss Sato," the commander muttered in a low tone, releasing his gloved hand from her shoulder as he began to follow his commanding officer. "You two have fun, now."

The young actor attempted to regain Asami's attention. "Anyways! Asami, I was wondering… I mean, I know it's early, and we haven't been seeing each other for too long…"

Her head instinctively tilted to the right, trying to make out his stumbling stammers. "Yes? It's been about three months, now."

"Well, I was wondering—will you marry me, Asami?" Tahno gasped for air; the words had released from his chest as though there were a bursting balloon, the helium erupting in every infinite direction. "Because, I… I love you, and I cannot imagine my life without you."

Asami blinked a few times, recalling the discussion she had earlier with Iroh and Bumi. _He's poor_, a dark voice whispered, crawling up her spine like a slug from the depths of her soul. "Uh—well, o-of course!" Asami spat out in a nervous giggle. "I mean, it's not a traditional proposal, but—who needs tradition, right?"

_What did you just agree to, sweetheart? Are you a complete fool?_

"Right! Exactly!" Tahno grabbed her delicate hands between his own, grinning widely. A voice suddenly called for him from behind the stage entrance; he released her, and started to dash for the door. "I'll see you after the show, princess."

A harsh metallic slam made Asami jump, even though she saw the door shut right in front of her. She trembled, pulling the overcoat closer to her body over her shoulders, and turned her feet down the grey cobblestone alley towards the entrance of the theater. Her heels dodged traps between the rounded stones, preferring to clack along the flattest portion of the worn limestone. The bile of the imaginary slug remained, a heavy presence on Asami's psyche.

_Sweetheart, we need to make decisions for ourselves._

Asami brushed angry tears away with the sleeve of her fine overcoat as she approached the ticket booth, her stub outstretched in her open hand. The box seats reserved for herself and her companions was found on the third floor, overlooking the dimmed stage lights and small orchestra pit below.

Iroh was completely silent, sipping on an unidentifiable drink that the box seating staff must've served to the two men. Bumi too had a beverage—he was more vocal to this fact. "The scotch here isn't as fancy as that stuff you have, Miss Sato," the commander chuckled, then shoved the general across Asami's still empty seat before she approached with the intention of sitting. "But Iroh's more a lightweight—he went with the ale."

Asami forced a single chuckle, remarking on their choices as she sat down. "And nothing for me? Such considerate gentlemen I surround myself with."

Shaking his head, Bumi retrieved a second glass he had stashed under his chair and the entire cheap bottle of liquor he had insisted on purchasing from the theater. He passed the glass to Asami, uncorking the cheap glass carafe just before he poured her a dribble of the harsh fluid. "How'd it go with the actor boy?" He questioned her curiously, replacing the cap of the bottle.

"…He asked me to marry him," Asami muttered just before her first sip, which was followed by a powerful cough—the cheap liquor burned all in its path as it descended down her esophagus.

Iroh practically snorted his ale, forcefully slamming it on the small table next to his fine chair. "He—what?" The prince exclaimed, bewildered by the idea of someone like Asami marrying the rat-like actor who was moments away from taking the stage before them. "Asam-Miss Sato, you _didn't_…" He shook his head forcefully as the lights in the theater dimmed to black, a more natural darkness than what could be found on the streets outside.

"He put me on the spot. I didn't know what to say," Asami whispered, sinking back into her seat as the miniature orchestra began a powerful, dramatic overtone. "So I said… of course."

An actor took the stage, a minor character who had the duty of proclaiming the beginning of the story. His voice boomed out his lines as though they were dire headlines on the city paper, news all should hear.

Bumi talked to his companions over the interlude. "He did seem _quite poor_, Miss Sato. Perhaps you should retract. Or get a prenuptial. Either way, marriage is for the old and tired—I'd advise you take it back."

"For once I agree with his advice," Iroh muttered, trying to respect the actors on stage.

Asami pulled her knees up into her chair, hiding half of her face behind them. "I suppose you're right…" _That's because they are, sweetheart. You don't love that piece of scum_. "…I'll just tell him after the show that I changed my mind."

…

The men returned to the harbor for the evening, and Asami arrived at home entirely alone. She sighed powerfully as she reached the dark parlor, throwing herself down on one of the velvet green armchairs.

Tahno had vowed he'd never be able to act again if she didn't love him; Asami simply told him she only loved him for his acting capacity in the first place. The words had been harsh, but they were entirely true—she didn't feel anything for him at all. Everything began to feel numb; the sensations around her simply didn't feel satisfying enough anymore.

Asami stood up from the chair in a heavy stretch, pulling the sleeves of the maroon evening dress up with her as her arms swung down behind her neck. She pushed the left elbow down further with her open right hand, sending her left fist to the center of her open back. The zipper was too low to reach from that angle—Asami huffed, giving up as she walked over to the bureau by the dark fireplace.

Her fingers traced along a smooth wooden box she'd never seen before, seemingly left out from the events in the parlor earlier that day. She felt a small brass latch, and pulled the lid open, releasing the same thick scent that had filled the room earlier the same day. Grapes, burning grapes, muted with the overbearing presence of expensive tobacco. Curiously, she removed a single cigarillo by the moonlight, and found a matchbook at the top of the container.

The small source of light changed the outlay of the room entirely. Asami brought the miniature cigar to her lips, inhaling the taste of grapes deeply as she sauntered aimlessly around the parlor.

Her bare feet froze when the cigarillo illuminated the painting Iroh had finished just hours before; ash collected slowly at the top of the small cigar. Struck with horror, a single hot flake hit the floor by her toe—_the painting had changed_.

Asami's petrified gaze was met with a malicious, evil grin depicted in the dry oil paint.

…


	5. Ch V: Dominate Them

-Chapter V-

_"I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

A single clap of thunder; a low, deep rumble tore through the clouds and shook the ground below. The sharp, powerful noise awoke Asami in her sleep with a start; her nightgown clung to the satin sheets as she abruptly sat up in her bed. "Just a storm," she chuckled, slowly reclining back into the warmth of her covers.

But a silent strike of lighting lit the room up, bright as day. Standing quietly at the foot of her bed was Tahno, his skin a sickly green, a trail of blood gushing down a clean, vertical laceration of his right arm. _Ploop_. The only noise that came from him was a heavy drop of crimson red fluid dripping from his fingers to the floor.

In his arms was Iroh's painting, the face upon the portrait's canvas as the artist's original, intended content expression.

Asami screamed, rising from her bed once again; warm daylight trickled in through the translucent silk curtains, reassuring her it had been _just a dream_. Her hand rose to her chest in an attempt to calm her pulse while the other stretched back on the sheets beneath her, which were soaked with a cold sweat.

"Just a dream," She muttered aloud, bringing her fingers up to her hairline to brush them through. Asami's forehead was clammy, damp with the stress of her nightmare. "It was just… a dream." But what if Tahno wasn't okay? Asami shook her head violently as she slid off her bed onto the floor, looking down at the hardwood for a lack of evidence to confirm her nightmare had been nothing more. _Maybe I should call him, ask and see if he's okay_, she thought silently as she approached a rotary phone on a large desk in her room.

Sliding to sit on the surface of the bureau, her delicate fingers whirred around the numbers, one by one. Patiently, she waited as a ring-back tone continued, continued, a steady low whirring noise, break. Another whir, another break. Tahno wasn't picking up his phone. Frustrated, Asami placed the receiver back and decided on having some breakfast. It was particularly late in the morning—eleven, to be precise. Her stomach released a soft grumble to indicate the need for some form of food.

Pulling the door shut behind her, Asami heard an unusual sound in the foyer. Curious, she rushed to the top the stairs; Mr. Chang was scaling down a ladder; he had hung the portrait above the front door, almost symmetrically across the foyer from the portrait of her mother. In a panic, Asami progressed down the stairs and shouted at her butler. "Mr. Chang—Who, I didn't ask you to hang that!"

The butler stopped halfway down the step ladder. "The General stopped by earlier; he insisted on bringing this fine frame to hang the portrait in," he adjusted his glasses, and began to climb down once more. "He also stated that he thought it'd be esthetically pleasing for you to face your mother."

Asami's voice raised to a shrill, worried tone as she looked up at the painting; the portrait still bore a sinister expression. "He didn't—he didn't see the painting, did he?"

"No, m'lady. He simply dropped the frame off and gave his opinion on placing."

She paused in the middle of the foyer, looking up at the picture. Perhaps it was a prank, someone played around with the visage while she was out. It was also at least 18 feet up; maybe visitors wouldn't notice the slight change in facial features when they saw the painting. Her hands raised up her neck to flank each side of her jaw as she exhaled a wild sigh, not sure what to do.

As insubordinate as always, Mr. Chang had already begun to walk away with the ladder. "The General also inquired to your availability around lunch, Ms. Sato. I told him he should call upon you again around two."

"_Two_?" That was only a few brief hours away—he'd be returning before she knew, and if Iroh came in, he'd undoubtedly notice the change in the painting. "Why would you tell him I'm available at all without first asking me, Mr. Chang?"

"You were asleep," the butler scoffed, carrying the ladder out of the foyer towards the backyard. "Not to mention, m'lady, I know your whole schedule—it's a Saturday, you truly don't have anything _better_ to do."

Asami grumbled and headed to the kitchen. The cook never arrived until noon—Chang would fix breakfast normally if Asami asked, but she didn't particularly feel like putting up with the attitude he was displaying. She fingered through the cabinets and pulled out a jar of mixed granola, a bowl, and fetched a bottle of soybean cream from the ice box. Asami never kept any kind of milk; she had a mild dairy allergy that made consuming milk products uncomfortable. At least when the cook wasn't here, Asami knew how to fix something for herself to eat—she never learned to cook without her mother, and her father had always been even more incompetent.

As she munched on her breakfast, Chang returned to the kitchen again, this time with the Saturday morning Republic City Times. A small heading at the bottom of the front page caught her eye—_Young man suspiciously found dead in his apartment last night, RCPD does not suspect foul play: see page 7. _

…

Iroh carefully buttoned up a fine white cotton shirt; he always preferred his collars a bit tight around his neck. Saturdays, as to every other man aboard a ship in the General's fleet, meant that he could visit the streets of the harbor out of uniform if he pleased. Normally, the prince wasn't one to take advantage of his own "Casual Saturdays" policy, but today felt different. He tucked the tails of his button-down shirt into his black slacks, then pulled on a high collared beige jacket he was fond of but rarely wore.

"A lack of a cravat doesn't mean its casual, Sir!" the helmsman chuckled as he walked by the prince on the stern of the deck. "Though, it's quite the outfit—gotta hot date shoreside?"

"I don't know if I'd quite call it that, helmsman, but…"

"But it is a woman, Sir?" The seaman lent against the steel railing that overlooked the water, still surprised to see the prince in his state of attire. "You know—the recruits all whisper—they think the great and powerful General of the United Forces hasn't had a girlfriend in years. Of course, you know those recruits; fresh outta boot camp, they're all fulla themselves and talk a lot of hot steam."

"Perhaps I should have a discussion with the privates about the chain of command," Iroh folded his arms.

"Perhaps Sir," the helmsman shrugged. "They seem to think you're not really in charge of them anyways, being a general and all. Generals aren't supposed to spend much time on boats. I mean, I'm only a petty officer—but at least they listen to me to a degree."

As Iroh grew silent, the helmsman attempted to break the pregnant pause with a swift movement of his arms. "Anyways! Good luck, Sir."

The prince nodded and headed down the ramp to the docks below; he'd want to stop by the market for a few things on his trip to Asami's home in the wealthy boroughs of Republic City. He did worry sometimes about his job; the helmsman was right, a ship was no place for a general. Iroh's ranking was within the Marine division of the United Forces, not the Navy—he got a fleet to tag along with him because he _was_ the commanding officer of the United Forces Marines, not because he actually worked for the fleet.

That didn't mean the men aboard his ship were in any position to disobey him or treat him as a guest; all ranked officers were to be respected… Even if he got the title fed to him upon a silver spoon.

An electric trolley car drew by slowly in the street; the young prince's pace along the urban sidewalk hopped into a jog to jump on just before it would speed away. Anonymity was something Iroh didn't enjoy often; today he could just be another face in the masses of Republic City, no more royal than the panhandling orphans in the city square that congregated below the statue of his grandfather.

…

Asami froze as she heard the telephone in the foyer ring; it was only noon—her first thought jumped to Iroh arriving earlier than expected. She shot up and ran out to the marble floored entrance as Mr. Chang answered the phone.

Her bare feet slid to a halt as the butler handed the receiver to her, a movement which prompted a condescending raise of an eyebrow from Chang. "It's that friend of yours—the Avatar."

"Oh!" Asami exclaimed, mildly surprised to be hearing from Korra as she promptly took the receiver from the butler's hands. "Hey, Korra! How are you?"

"Awesome! Er, I'm doing awesome, I mean." Korra chuckled through the receiver. "So, Asami, uh—I kinda have a favor to ask, but I'd also really like to hang out, too."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Well…" Korra started uneasily. "Mako's Satocycle has been on the fritz, and the department is telling him the issues are coming from wear-and-tear related to his driving habits..."

"Meaning they're not going to pay for it, I assume," Asami sighed in humor, picturing how horrible of a Satocycle driver her ex-boyfriend probably was.

"…Exactly. They've already funded two major repairs in the past five months, so…Beifong says this one is on him." Korra paused. "So—I was thinking—maybe you fix it sometime this week, and the three of us treat you to dinner somewhere nice? It'd be cool if we could all catch up, ya know, like the, uh, good old days."

_The good old days that had only been six months ago,_ Asami thought. "Sure, that would be nice," she giggled. "And if it's as bad as it sounds, I don't think you and the guys could pull together enough money to pay for it to be fixed, anyways."

"Yeah, being the Avatar isn't exactly a well-paying career choice," Korra chuckled. "So, I'll talk to you later, I guess?"

"Of course, Korra." Asami began to place the receiver back on the telephone. "See you soon." As the brass ear piece clicked against the hook on the rotary phone, Asami leant against the wood paneled wall and looked up over the massive front door; though the details were very subtle, she could still vaguely make out the horrible glare the portrait had gained overnight.

Her hand rose to her chest, recalling the brief article she had just finished glancing over before Korra called; the newspaper had explained that the police department declined to release the name of the man who had died, let alone any other circumstances of the death. The reporter declared RCPD's behavior "suspicious", and seemed to think there was an ongoing investigation despite the responding detective's denial of such a thing.

Something in Asami's gut insisted it was Tahno.

_Who cares if it was him, sweetheart? You of all people absolutely shouldn't. He's probably just not answering his phone—what a child._

Asami shook away the voice in her head adamantly, and decided to head up to her room to clean up for the day. As she stood at the landing directly below her mother's portrait, Asami's eyes glanced up at her mother and then across the foyer to herself. "It's not that noticeable," She muttered in an attempt to reassure herself. "It's really not. He probably won't even notice that the painting was placed there."

Her hair towel-dried, Asami slipped into a comfortable long-sleeve dress as she heard a powerful knock at the front door below. Iroh's proper voice could be heard greeting the butler just after the towering doors were drawn open.

Asami slid into a pair of shoes, then hurried down the stairs, noticing the lack of a flash of military red in the foyer. "I've never seen you out of uniform, General," she remarked as she reached the foot of the stairs.

"There's a Casual-Saturdays policy in my fleet," He grinned awkwardly, seemingly self-conscious about the outfit choice now that he had arrived at his destination. As the butler carelessly walked away to the kitchen with a bouquet of gardenias, Iroh approached Asami near the foot of the stairs. "Asa-Ms. Sato, I… wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. The things I said about your choices, decisions… well, they were out of line."

She remained silent, still perplexed by Iroh's informal appearance. _He's handsome, isn't he, sweetheart? _Asami's head twitched violently for a single moment, forcing herself out of her trance. "O-of course, General!" She smiled. "I do think you and the Commander had a degree of merit in your opinions, however—since I retracted my agreement with Tahno, he refuses to answer his phone." Asami chuckled once, trying to force out another explanation to herself. Tahno couldn't be the man in the paper. "Some people need to separate their personal lives from their work—and I honestly don't need that variety of drama."

Chang suddenly reappeared with the flowers in a vase. "Sir, did you have a location in mind for the arrangement?"

An eyebrow raised on Asami's face at the inquiry directed at the prince. "Those are—?"

"Well, I intended on handing them to you," Iroh's face flushed in embarrassment. "But your butler insisted on placing them in a vase of water first. I was hoping to take you out for lunch somewhere to make up for how rude I was the day before."

"I… I suppose that would be nice, I'd just need to grab my jacket," Asami shrugged and headed up the stairs.

Iroh nodded, then took a seat at the landing while he waited—his eyes were drawn up to the place he had suggested the butler hang his portrait, just above the colossal front doors. He squinted—something seemed off, different from his original image. Perplexed, he pulled himself up by the banister, and tried to focus his vision. He jumped, startled as a hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Everything okay?" Asami questioned, obtusely ignoring the truth he had been trying to see. "I was thinking that corner of the room made the painting seem a little… dark."

* * *

_-Thanks for reading! Chapter 6 is a work in progress-reviews are always appreciated!_


	6. Ch VI: Rewrite History

-Chapter VI-

_"The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

Mass transportation was an oddity to Asami; she rarely found herself on a city trolley, but it was a surprisingly pleasant experience. The glassless windows funneled in an artificial breeze, tossing her long, dark hair far behind her. Her hands grasped onto a brass pole in the aisle of the electric car just below Iroh's; she leaned back with the wind, allowing it to push her away from his stone-like posture.

The crowds of people along the sidewalk seemed to fly by at a rate faster than she was used to when driving through the city streets. Asami's head leaned back over itself slightly, giving her a nearly upside-down view of the passing people.

Suddenly, a flash of pale skin and swooping, ebony hair standing perfectly still in the bustling crowd. Asami's neck snapped back up into its set upright place—just as she blinked, the androgynous apparition had vanished entirely. She blinked once more, not sure if the figure she had seen in the crowd was truly there in the first place. Confused, Asami turned forward again, facing the young prince before her.

"Are you alright, Ms. Sato?" He asked, a bit concerned by her sudden peculiar behavior. "You look… Pale, for lack of a better word."

"S-sure, I'm fine," Asami shook her head, forcing a broken smile. "I just… I thought I saw someone I knew. I was mistaken, however."

"Well, our stop is just ahead," Iroh mentioned as he pulled a small cord that generated a buzzing noise, and began to walk towards the rear of the car. "There's this nice little restaurant I saw earlier that I thought you'd like."

Asami nodded silently, following him to the rear exit as the trolley slowed to a stop. As her toes touched the flagstone road beneath the trolley car, she felt as though the low roar of the city crowds hit her in a massive wave; young street orphans parading around with the local tabloids, busy people rudely shoving less preoccupied people out of their way. A man with a briefcase rushed pass Asami, nearly separating her from Iroh as he angrily walked between the two. A crowd followed behind him as though he were leading a herd; the general reached out, and Asami grabbed the sleeve of his arm just before the heavy tide of citizens parted the two entirely.

"I thought I had lost you," she sighed out a light chuckle. "It would've been difficult to find you again without your red uniform in this crowd."

"Well, the restaurant is just ahead," Iroh grinned, pointing towards a small corner café on the other side of the intersection. "I thought they had a nice little patio—and it's a pretty warm day for this time of year." The prince glanced down to the sleeve of his other arm; Asami was still holding on, to his surprise.

"I've never been there before," she remarked, letting her grip loosen and gradually slide down the sleeve of the jacket into his own hand as they stepped out into the street. Asami could feel his hand twitch just as he looked back in a rather unnerved fashion.

_Don't let go, sweetheart._

A darkness inside Asami rose up from where she felt the sluggish sensation in her spine, yet she instinctively pulled the prince back towards the gutter of the street as an impatient taxi driver whirred by. Iroh stumbled back in shock, letting go of her entirely as he almost tripped over the curb.

"T-thanks," he gasped once he regained his balance. "I didn't even see that vehicle."

"It's no problem, General." Asami smiled, just as she began to feel the growing slug consume her body entirely. The sensation grasped onto her vocal chords, forcing her to speak in a low, sultry tone. "_Safety first, after all._"

"Right," the prince chuckled uneasily, deciding to look both ways before he proceeded into the street once more. Asami felt the sensation pull back into its home along her spine, taking its urges with it. She rubbed her arm uneasily, making sure to stay close to the general as he proceeded across to the other side of the intersection.

The café's seating was open; a lazy waitress urged the pair to sit wherever they pleased. As they took their seats in the café's patio tables, Asami picked up a menu and glanced through her choices. "Lots of tea," she remarked with a giggle, her nose still buried in the variety of choices the menu conveyed. "Is that a thing in the royal family?"

The air around was suddenly at a complete calm; the sounds of the city were muted entirely, though Asami could still feel the movement of people passing her by just a few feet away.

Yet they were silent. Completely, totally, utterly silent, as though their feet made no sounds upon the stone sidewalks and their bodies made no noises as they avoided head-on collisions with each other. Asami looked up; Iroh's lips were moving-he _was _talking about something.

"_You did this to me, Asami_."

Asami looked at the young prince, profoundly perplexed. The words didn't match the movements of his mouth, the voice was not his own. She tried to say something with her own lips; no noise came forth, though she could feel her chords vibrate with the sensation of words being spoken.

She rose her hand to her throat; Iroh leaned forward, equally confused and growing somewhat concerned.

"_You did this to me, Asami_." She felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, and looked up.

The same apparition she had seen in the crowd, the same nightmare in her dream the night before; Tahno was standing over her, a warm trickle of blood flowing down from his right arm to her shoulder.

"_You did this to me_." This time, the words matched someone's lips.

A hot splash ran over her shoulder, and Asami flinched, screaming involuntarily.

"Oh spirits!" the same lazy waitress exclaimed; the girl had tripped over the pavement, spilling hot, red pomegranate tea all over Asami's back, right shoulder and lap. "Oh, spirits, oh spirits! I-I'm so sorry, miss! I…" the girl struggled to pull herself off the pavement as Iroh got out of his seat to give her a hand.

Asami sat in her seat perfectly still, completely stunned as drops of transparent red fluid soaked through her clothes. As Iroh helped the girl up, he separated a napkin from its roll of silverware and handed it to Asami.

"Are you okay, Ms. Sato?"

"I don't think I'm burned or anything, if that's what you mean." Asami stared at the young prince blankly, haunted by the image of Tahno standing over her. "I think I need to go home."

"If it's because you need medical attention, there's healers in this neighborhood that are much closer," Iroh shook his head, placing a concerned hand on her tea-coated shoulder. "And if you're not harmed—well, we haven't even ordered anything yet."

"I'm not hungry anymore." Asami frowned, standing up from her seat. "I… I just want to go home."

…

"She… What?" Commander Bumi chuckled as Iroh briskly threw his jacket on a chair in his cabin.

"Asam-Ms. Sato, she just got up and left," he heaved out with a sigh, falling on the same couch his jacket had just landed on. "Without a word. It was so peculiar—one moment, we were discussing the Royal Family's long tradition of tea, and the next… she was in a trance, completely gone."

"And then some dumb broad spilled hot tea over her?" Bumi leaned back in the prince's desk chair, throwing his boots up on top of the wooden bureau. "What a way to snap outta somethin."

Iroh's hands raised up to his forehead, as if their warm presence would wisk away a dreadful impending migraine. The prince was prone to anxiety attacks, which were usually followed by deep-seeded migraines reminding him that everything was out of his control. This time, the two conditions were barreling towards him simultaneously. "It just makes no sense!" he barked, thoroughly frustrated with himself. "One minute, she's just herself, the next, she's flirting, or saving my life, or…"

"Sounds like a personal problem, Princey," the commander interjected with a light chuckle.

"I don't know who the one with the problem is!" The general's fists slammed down to the couch with a muffled pop, the springs within the sofa reacting to the force of his motion. "I didn't do anything drastically odd—I just wanted to take her out for lunch."

The commander sat up, taking his feet off the general's desk. "Like a date?"

"No. Just an apology."

"Lemme get this straight," Bumi coughed as he stood up, then walked over to a small collection of expensive liquors to pour himself a drink. "You asked her out to lunch… to _apologize_."

"Yes."

"And you didn't bring her anything special—no gifts to confuse her, nothing to make her see it as anything else?"

Iroh slouched into the couch, making himself feel small. "I… did bring her flowers."

The commander retook his seat at the desk chair, placing the iced glass directly on the hardwood bureau. "And you _explicitly_ stated that this was not a date?"

The general paused. "…No. I didn't."

"Now, why would that be?" Bumi questioned as he took a sip of his beverage, raising a hand before Iroh could answer. "Hypothetical question, of course—I already know why. You keep denying it to me, sir… But it's pretty clear to everyone else that you have feelings for this girl, it's probably even clear to her." The commander paused to take another hearty sip of his drink, then placed it back on the desk. "I'd say she's more aware of it than you are."

Iroh interjected, finding a chance to debate his case. "That's preposterous, Commander. Sure, Ms. Sato is beautiful, but she's far too young for me. She's barely out of adolescence."

"With all due respect, Princey-boy—I'd hardly call ten years a major age gap. You're only twenty eight. It's not like you're an old man." Bumi stood up from the desk, leaving the sweating glass to slowly stain the varnish on the surface of the bureau. He then proceeded to Iroh's collection of painting attempts, pulling each out one by one. "I'd go as far as to say you're a little obsessed, Iroh."

"You're wrong—I just…"

"No, you listen to me." Bumi's demeanor suddenly turned very harsh, as stern as Iroh could remember his grandfather being when he misbehaved as a boy. "You're in denial. That's only going to make it worse. You _want _her. Accept that, and stop forcing yourself to abstain from what you desire."

Iroh's golden eyes widened, terrified by the sudden change in Bumi's usually pleasant, nonchalant temper. "I…. I think we need to have a ship meeting tonight," the general attempted to change the subject as the commander drew away back to the liquor on the desk. "One of the men informed me that there's some conflict aboard regarding defiance of the chain of command."

His back turned to the general, Bumi took out a handkerchief to wipe the condensation off the desk his drink had caused. The varnish had stained off, leaving a light dry ring where the wood polish was supposed to be.

"Whoops," Bumi chuckled. "Perhaps you need a few coasters."

…

Mr. Chang drew open the doors of the Sato estate after a few sharp knocks, and was greeted by a young woman in blue rushing in past him without a word.

The butler sighed, recognizing the latest guest, then shouted to the young woman. "Ms. Sato is in the east garden, if her location interests you."

"Thanks!" Korra returned his shout with a wave as she changed direction and ran down the other hall. The young Avatar hadn't visited Asami's home in quite some time—most of her memories of the place were traumatic, things like being attacked by Hiroshi and discovering his underground workshop.

As Korra drew out the glass eastern doors to the back lawn, she noticed something odd; Hiroshi's workshop was still standing. "Huh," she muttered to herself aloud as she progressed towards a small rock garden flanking the east wing on the home.

"…Korra?" A dark head rose from a stone bench under a tall cherry tree, the leaves shining in yellows and reds, a symbol of the inevitable return of winter on the horizon. "What are you doing here? I… I thought you wouldn't be visiting until later this week."

The young Avatar carefully navigated slate flagstones past a small koi pond, through white designs of sand. "I was… in the neighborhood, I guess? Talking to you earlier made me realize that I haven't seen you in a while. Avatar duties have been kinda lax lately—I got around to healing almost all the benders Amon affected a few weeks ago." Korra raised an awkward arm over her neck with a light chuckle. "Beifong didn't really want me to heal any of the gang members who lost their bending, so I guess there's a few people still out there."

"Well," Asami stood up to give her friend a hug. "It is nice to see you."

Suddenly, Chang appeared at the entrance to the garden. "M'lady, there are some… _officers_ here to see you," he sighed. "The door has been outrageously busy today. Perhaps you should give your frequent guests their own key."

"Officers?" Asami raised a confused eyebrow; _why would Iroh visit her home for the third time in one day_? "You mean the General and Commander?"

"No," Mr. Chang adjusted his lapels with an uninterested sneer. "_Police_ officers. One of them seems to be a detective—they'd like to question you."

"About what?" Korra interrupted. "Spirits, what could Asami ever do?"

Chang exasperated a frustrated sigh. "Oh, _I don't know_, Ms. Avatar. Since they want to question my employer, _they refused to tell me_. You may be used to being above the law, so perhaps you should answer Ms. Sato's door from now on," the butler began to walk back towards the mansion. "She'd probably give you raise."

"Well, I…" Asami started, shaking her head as she led her friend out of the garden. "I should probably go talk to them. I'm not aware of any wrongdoing—they probably believe I witnessed something," she thought, recalling the day's earlier events. "In fact, the General was nearly the victim of a hit-and-run just a few hours ago… perhaps they need me to recall the license plates."

Korra shook her head. "That's not something they'd come to your house for, Asami."

"Regardless," Asami pulled open the glass door. "I have a civic duty to answer questions if they're not accusing me of any crime."

The policemen were waiting in the foyer; as soon as the pair of women walked in, a man in a suit flanked by two uniformed officers approached the girls. The suited man—the detective—spoke first.

"Asami Sato?" He raised an eyebrow, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "And… Avatar Korra. Miss, this issue doesn't concern you…" He directed at the young Avatar. "I'd rather this stay confidential at the moment, some of the things we'd like to question your friend about are very… sensitive."

"Is Asami in trouble?" Korra took a step forward, as if to shield Asami from the men.

"Not at all, Ma'am," the detective shook his head calmly. "We'd just like to talk to her." One of the uniformed officers stepped forward, leading Korra down a hall to one of the many sitting rooms.

The detective turned his attention back to Asami as he confirmed that the young Avatar was out of earshot, taking a notepad and compact fountain pen out of his pockets. "Now, Ms. Sato… How aware of the news are you?"

"I glance through the paper in the morning," she pondered, wondering where his line of questioning would go. "Why do you ask?"

"We've tried to keep out the press, but…" He began to scribble notes on the pad of paper. "You may be aware that a young man, a former pro-bender and actor, was found dead in his apartment this morning."

"I…" Asami paused; they were confirming what she feared, _Tahno was dead_. "I saw an article, but it said little about who he was."

"The young man in question left a single note," the detective continued. "He addressed it to you. Do you have any idea why he might have done so?"

"Well," Asami scowled, confused as to why there'd be anything with her name on it in Tahno's apartment… _Unless he killed himself, sweetheart._ "If you'd actually tell me who he was, I may be able to help you a bit more."

"The fellow in question went by the name of Tahno," the detective looked up from his notes. "Northern Water Tribe immigrant, had very few papers documenting his identity besides that." The suited man then nodded to the other uniformed officer, who was holding a long, yellow envelope. "This is the note in question."

From it, the officer drew out a plastic bag marked "EVIDENCE"; inside was a square note, the lower right corner drenched in dried, dark red blood.

Asami staggered back as the note was held up to her face, reading the fine handwriting she recognized from the photo on the vanity.

"_You did this to me, Asami_. _You did this to me_."

Her heart rate shot up, feeling as though it'd fly out of her chest. "He's… Dead?" Asami chocked.

"A long, vertical laceration was found on his right arm." The detective began scribbling fervently in his notepad, possibly recording Asami's reaction. "Now, the coroner has established the cause of death as being suicide. We're just trying to eliminate all other possibilities."

"I… I have a night gate man," Asami shook her head, assuming they were searching for her alibi. "He watches the only entrance and exit from the estate from dusk until dawn. If you're looking for confirmation that I was not there, you can contact him."

Her glance found itself trailing up the walls in the foyer, up past the grand door. The detective nodded, and made a gesture to the uniformed officer to go fetch his partner.

"That's all I'll need, Ms. Sato." He began to head for the door as the officers regrouped in the foyer. "Thanks for your time."

She nodded silently, eyes fixed on the portrait Iroh had painted. "Of course," Asami muttered lowly.

Iroh's portrait seemed more grotesque; the expression on the painted Asami's face was bitter, angry, devious. Asami jumped with a start as she felt a strong hand on her back.

"Cool painting," Korra looked up behind her. "How'd it go? With the officers, I mean. I was worried I'd see you leaving here in a cop car."

Asami's emerald eyes slowly rotated over to Korra from the painting. "I… I think they got exactly what they wanted," her voice barely came above a whisper. "But… Tahno is…"

"Tahno?" Korra looked shocked, completely unaware that Asami and the former pro-bender even knew each other. "Why in the name of the Spirits would they question you about that sleaze?"

"It-it's nothing," Asami trembled. "Nothing at all, I suppose—he's just… Dead."

…

* * *

_-Chapter 7 is a work in progress! Reviews are always appreciated!_


	7. Ch VII: A Romance

-Chapter VII-

_"When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

"H-hey, Asami?" Korra turned back, still in the foyer just below the painting. "The more I look at it… Something seems, uh, off about that painting. Who painted it?"

"The General." Asami shrugged. Korra hadn't seen the original; most likely, her friend would assume that Iroh had painted it that way on purpose.

"And you hung that up? I mean, it's pretty awesome, but… I don't think it looks much like you. You're not that… ugly." Korra shook her head, looking away from the portrait at last. "Anyways, I think I should be heading back soon. You're gonna be okay, right?" She did seem to hold a degree of concern for her friend, despite not being fully aware of Asami's relationship with the now dead Tahno.

"_I _didn't hang it up," Asami scoffed. "Mr. Chang did."

"Same difference," Korra chuckled as she pulled the grand doors open. "I'll see ya later… Tuesday maybe?"

Asami nodded, dismissing her friend. "Of course."

As the massive wooden doors were drawn shut, Asami glared up at the painting. It was getting worse by the hour, every action she took seemed to have a negative impact on the appearance of the portrait. Frustrated, Asami took out one of the grape cigarillos that she had begun to keep on her, and lit it with a small metal lighter.

"Something must be done about that awful painting," She muttered between huffs of heavy, wine-like smoke. As she leant against the banister of the grand staircase, she recalled that Iroh had mentioned he'd be shipping out soon; if she could just hang on long enough for him to leave, she could take down the portrait for good. With her free hand, she pushed the bulk of her hair back behind her ear and sighed.

The more Asami despised the painting, the darker she felt. A heavy shadow rooted in the slug-like presence in her spine seemed to surround her, engulfing the air and feeding off the thick tobacco residue. What thrilled Asami was that the shadow felt _nice_. The presence was almost comforting; warm like a constant embrace from a lover, as secure as she felt under her covers at night. Inversely, it seemed to tell her it'd always be _with _her. This darkness was here to stay.

With a heavy sigh, the young woman pushed off from the staircase banister and sauntered down the overwhelmingly gloomy hall to the parlor. She tapped the ash of her small cigar into the same crystal ash tray that rested on the end table the commander had used just the day before. Asami took a seat down at the desk chair for the massive bureau, tossing her feet up on the flat surface. There wasn't much to do on a Saturday; not much that interested her, at the very least. "Perhaps I should go out tonight," she muttered aloud to herself, stretching her arms out and behind her head. The premise was one Asami had stayed away from for quite some time, "going out" in that context. Surely, she'd be alone unless she invited anyone along.

As she glanced up to the ceiling, Asami considered her options. The General wouldn't have any fun if she bothered to ask him, and Korra probably didn't know what a night life was in the first place. There weren't many other people Asami would feel comfortable going out with, after all—Mako was completely out of the question, and Bolin would probably be an embarrassment.

There was the Commander. He seemed to know how to have a fun time. Asami reached for the rotary telephone on her desk, and dialed for the extension to the United Forces' telegraph line.

The slug grew silent; the malevolent presence had fused itself with Asami's being. She stood up from the desk after completing her message, and then sauntered back down the hall with the grape flavored cigarillo in hand.

The General's gardenias were in full bloom in the vase Mr. Chang had left them in. Despite the foyer having few bright windows, the flowers seemed to blossom on the end table under the bright skylight over the staircase landing. She snuffed out the small cigar in a nearby crystal ashtray, leaving the tobacco half-finished.

Asami walked back over to the flowers and stared for a moment, tapping her cheek lightly as she inspected the gardenias. They smelled magnificent; sweet, but not too overwhelming, delicate, but not too modest. In a swift moment, she picked up the vase and carried them up the stairs to her room. Leaving them in the foyer didn't seem right; she couldn't appreciate them as she'd like in such an emotionless place.

Tahno's rhododendrons had long wilted, the petals had begun to dry up near the base of the crystal vase already sitting on her vanity.

The rhododendrons flew into the trash bin by her desk, followed by the cheap frame containing the signed photo of Tahno.

Iroh's flowers took their place, the gardenias filling the room with their pleasant aroma.

…

"Why aren't you coming to the meeting again?" Iroh furrowed his brow in frustration, noticing that Bumi was walking around the top deck towards his cabin in some of his finer street clothes. A white suit, to be precise; the Prince found it a bit crude, somewhat tacky. "It isn't exactly optional."

"I'm the commander of this fleet, General." Bumi frowned, adjusting his collar. "Quite frankly, I do believe I'm entitled to make decisions for myself."

Iroh massaged the bridge of his nose in a rush of anxiety, frustrated that Bumi refused to take his orders. "You may be the fleet commander, Bumi, but I am your superior on this matter." It was because of Bumi's behavior that the prince was so inclined to hold the meeting in the first place; he wanted to make it clear to the Commander that he wouldn't tolerate insubordinate behavior any longer. "I will not accept your refusal on this issue, Commander."

"I don't think you're inclined to make that decision, Sir." Bumi glared directly into Iroh's golden eyes, unnerved by Iroh's strong posture. He knew that the prince's stiff stance only indicated how frail the boy truly was, how easily he'd snap under pressure.

The prince returned the Commander's challenging glance, lowering his brows. "I could see what a court-martial thinks about that, Commander."

"I have over twenty five years of experience, General," Bumi shrugged, stuffing a telegram he had received just a few hours before in his blazer's pocket. "_You truly think_ they'll listen to the complaints of a prince who skated up the ranks because his _mommy_ wanted him to be large and in charge?"

Iroh stammered, unable to force out his words as Bumi's face drew very close to his own.

"I _worked_ to get here, Princey-boy," the Commander's hot breath drew upon Iroh's jaw. "Don't you dare forget—that's what makes us different. In fact, it makes me_ better_." Bumi drew the crumpled paper out of his pocket, and shoved it into the General's chest as he began to walk out his cabin door.

Iroh unraveled the document and looked it over.

**Commander, if you're not terribly busy tonight, I would like to invite you out. Stop. I've had this urge to see the Republic City nightlife, and I think you'd be a fun companion to bring along. Stop. There's no need to send a reply, simply show up at my residence around ten in the evening. Stop.**

The prince grumbled; the telegram was from Asami. _What on earth is she thinking_? Iroh walked back and sank into the couch in the commander's cabin. With a heavy sigh, he realized his meeting was still on for 9:30, five minutes from the time indicated by a clock on the wall.

Heaving himself up once more, Iroh straightened out his crisp red uniform and headed out of the Commander's cabin. The crew would be waiting below deck for him, but Iroh found himself staring out to the illuminated city skyline.

Somewhere out there, Bumi would be headed to Asami's estate to show her a night on the town in his atrociously tacky outfit. The prince leaned over the railing of the ship, resting his arms on the metal bars as he released another heavy sigh. Tossing his head down, a lock of his black hair fell out of its place; Iroh didn't even bother to put it back where it belonged.

"What would drive her to ask _him _instead of me?" he muttered aloud, even though he was aware that no one was around to answer his question. It didn't make sense to Iroh; an old man like Bumi had no business going out for a night on the town with a young woman such as Asami, even if it were strictly platonic. Bumi was uncontrollable; _he'd probably even ditch her at some point_, Iroh thought to himself.

A light tap came at his shoulder; one of the low-ranking sailors had been sent topside to find the General.

"S-sir!?" The Sailor snapped into a salute.

Iroh nodded, signaling the sailor his right to speak.

"..Sir, I regret to inform you, but you seem to be late to your own meeting, Sir!" The sailor seemed nervous, repeating 'sir' multiple times.

The prince shook his head, walking in the direction of the dock. "Tell them the meeting is postponed until the end of our shore leave, sailor. I have more urgent matters I need to attend to right now."

…

Bumi had gotten used to driving, despite being more of a man of the sea. Somehow, the young prince he worked for had gotten by for a decade without learning to operate one of the machines; the commander was almost thankful he was spending more of a social time with someone who could drive besides himself.

The expansive drive up to the entrance of Asami's mansion looked radically different at night; the stone arches had disappeared, the house itself looked less ornate when coated in the suburban shadows of the estate. Yet, he knew he was still on the drive—the stones beneath the tires still rocked the Satomobile back and forth…violently, if he were to decide to speed.

Bumi wasn't quite aware of Asami's intentions inviting him to go out for a night on the town, but he assumed it wasn't anything… romantic. The commander had an eye for affection, he liked to think, and was acutely aware that the young woman had a degree of feelings for his commanding officer. The commander chuckled to himself in the car; perhaps he could talk the girl into relieving Iroh of his tormenting feelings for her, convince her to acknowledge she had feelings for the prince, too.

The estate looked dark, with the exception of a soft glow coming from the windows of the foyer. After only one knock of the lion turtle shaped doorknocker, the doors were drawn open by Asami herself, clad in a long, shimmering, elegant black dress. In a split second, Bumi considered if her intentions had been _something different_.

"That's an awfully, uh, _sparkly_ dress, Ms. Sato." The commander offered her his arm, in a gesture to lead her to the military issue Satomobile.

The young businesswoman swiftly declined his chivalrous gesture. "Commander, I'd rather take one of my vehicles…With all due respect to the United Forces' editions of my Satomobile, it's not as…. _fashionable_ as I'd like."

Around the corner was a large garage, perfectly blended into the décor of the mansion's exterior. With a heave, Asami pulled one of the doors open—behind it was a fancy convertible Satomobile in a remarkable, stunning red. The girl tossed a key around in her gloved white hand, holding the train of her dress with the other as she slid into the black leather driver's seat.

Bumi found his seat on the passenger's side, admiring the polished, dark wood interior of the expensive custom vehicle. "So, why exactly did you ask me to come along instead of the General?" He questioned as she turned the key, the powerful engine roaring over him like a hungry predator.

Asami was quiet as she raced down the drive with a split start, carefully weaving between the concrete walls that guided the driveway down to the street. "He…" She finally began, trying to answer the commander's question once they were on the main street of her neighborhood. "I… I just suppose I wanted to be with someone who actually knew their way around a night life, and you were the first to come to mind."

"Well, if that's your reasoning, you did come to the right person," the commander chuckled. "I know a few nice clubs around here, too." Stretching his arms out behind his back, he tried to make himself more comfortable. "But I'm just gonna be blunt—what do you think about my commanding officer, Ms. Sato?"

"I suppose he's handsome," Asami shrugged as she sped through a yellow light. "Why do you ask?"

A bit surprised by her upfront attitude, the commander sat up in his seat a bit more. "Well, that's rather blunt of you. I was asking mostly because… Well, you got the poor guy's head in some sort of mess."

"Really?" She questioned him, not previously aware that the General harbored any kind of emotional feelings for her, at least not to that extent. "What do you mean by that," she chuckled. "I mean, 'his head in a mess'? I don't think I've _tried_ to do such a thing."

"You didn't really have to," he lifted his shoulders, the cool air indicating the ever-approaching winter in the night.

A bar in the lower west end served as their destination; an expensive, respectable club that was known for powerful, sweet mixed drinks. As Asami swooshed through the lowly lit, grand room, she felt as though she were flying, lighter than a feather.

There were a variety of interesting people; all seemed nearly comatose, inebriated by the special drinks the bartender here was fond of fixing. "They're really, well, special..." Bumi had chuckled as he passed her their first round. "I won't spoil the secret ingredient."

Ambient laughter, the clinking of glasses, upbeat, erotic jazz music all combined in the air to form a magnificent symphony; Asami felt her eyes had glazed over into a tranquil haze, a young man reached out and asked her to dance.

The drinks were _quite _strong, and the so-called "secret ingredient" had an outstanding effect on Asami's mood. She felt content, aware, energetic, and most importantly… _happy_. Her first still resting half-consumed in her hand, she glanced at the time and gasped; they had already been there for two hours. Quickly, she threw the beverage back, and dashed over to the bartender for a second.

"It's already midnight, huh?" Asami grinned at the bartender as he fixed her a second beverage, grinding a curious plant-like substance in a mortar and pestle. "I swear, it seems like I got here just a little while ago…" Nervously, she began to glance around the room; Commander Bumi's white suit was nowhere in sight.

That worried Asami—either Bumi had passed out, found someone of more interest to spend his drunken time around, or had left her here at the bar entirely. With a heavy sigh, she sat down at one of the stools of the bar.

A grandfather clock flanking the bar began to chime, and Asami took a hearty sip of the drink. It made her lightheaded, depreciated her awareness of her surroundings. A heavy hand was placed on her shoulder, and she whirred around in the seat, expecting to be asked to dance once more.

"Mi-Asami?" the hand was followed by a voice she knew she'd heard before—never saying _those _specific syllables however, only ever annunciating her surname.

"Iroh?" She coughed out his name, surprised to see the general behind her. "What are you doing… here?"

"I should be asking you the same thing," he shook his head. "My commander stumbled into his cabin thirty minutes ago, completely inebriated under the influence of…something." The general rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "And… he was with someone, but it wasn't… you."

Asami shook her head. "No, I've been here this whole time."

"You know what kind of place this is… Right?" Iroh frowned. "Asami, you really shouldn't be here…"

She couldn't take her focus away from how her name sounded rolling off of his tongue, the way he spoke each syllable of it, the motion his lips made when he moved on to the next word following the sounds that identified _her._

"Well, perhaps you should help me home?" Asami smiled gently, reaching an arm out to steady herself as she hopped off the stool.

"Of course, Asami." She glanced up at his lips once more. "Except, I don't know how to dri-"

In a sudden impulse, a split second of an overwhelming internal pressure, she used the arm she had placed on his shoulder to interrupt him for a deep, passionate kiss.

…

* * *

_-sorry this took me so long to complete! I'm probably going to start a regular schedule with these soon-a new chapter should be updated every Wednesday by the latest! I always take your feedback into consideration, so I truly appreciate reviews._


	8. Ch VIII: Noblest Motives

-Chapter VIII-

_"Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

His gloved hand pushed her shoulder back away slowly, deeply conflicted about the proper way to react to Asami's brash actions. "I—Ms. Sato, you…" His other hand reached up to his forehead, grasping it in pain. "You know this is an Opium bar, right? I fear that you're heavily under the influence of these substances they put in your beverage."

Asami's heart sank momentarily; he had resumed with his sense of propriety, regained his stiff manners. "…I wasn't aware of that," she shook her head slowly, backing off as though she had been the one to cause him the pain he grasped upon his forehead. "Perhaps I should be going home, but… I doubt it's safe for me to operate my Satomobile."

"And I never learned how to use those things," Iroh sighed, leading her out the door of the club. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know where to begin."

As her heels grazed the cobblestone sidewalks of the exterior city, her arm instinctively reached up and around Iroh's shoulders to brace herself against any possible falls. As if he knew this was for her safety, his arm reached down, holding her by the waist.

"Commander Bumi told me…" Asami began, smiling up to him. "He told me that you… That you, uh, _like_ me, for lack of a better word." Her normally impressive vocabulary seemed to be lost in the haze that the toxic substance she had ingested put upon her; the words sounded juvenile, but they were all she felt she could muster.

Iroh chuckled, himself nearly stumbling over the uneven pavers in his sober embarrassment. "I doubt those were his exact words, Ms. Sato."

Fuddling with the Satomobile keys in her pocketbook in her open hand, Asami reached out and passed them to the prince. "He said… something to the extent of I 'have your head in a mess', if that makes sense."

"I still don't know how to drive, Ms. Sato," Iroh shook his head, trying to change the subject. "I hardly understand why you expect me to take these."

"It's a convertible Satomobile, and I left the hardtop back in the garage. I can't leave it here overnight or sleep in it," Asami chuckled, leaning into him to urge him towards her car. "I'll have to give you a crash course in driving lessons."

The night air was growing colder by the moment; surely a commute home without any shield from the wind would be interesting. Asami also considered the other factors—a novice driver, her intoxication, the risk of total failure if he forgot which pedal was the brake. Asami stumbled ahead of him, taking the keys back to unlock the driver's side door, then slid across the seat to the passenger's side as she gestured for him to take the seat.

Handing the keys back to him, she pointed to a circular metal disc with a square hole in the center under the steering wheel shaft. "That's the ignition. Put the key in, then push and turn."

He cautiously followed her instructions, and jumped slightly when the engine roared to life. "That's a—powerful sounding engine," he stammered nervously. "What do I do next?"

"There's a couple things," Asami shook her head. "First, this is the gearshift—don't call it the prndl—and it controls what mode the car is in. Right now, the vehicle is currently parked." She reached over to a copper lever, and twisted the handle forward. "What I just engaged was your headlights—you need to have those on to drive at night."

As Iroh inspected the gearshift cautiously, Asami carried on explaining. "Lucky for you, there's only two pedals where your right foot should be right now. This is one of my few automatics—if it were a manual transmission, I'd be truly out of luck."

"Okay, what do the pedals do?" He asked, looking down to where his feet were.

"The right one is acceleration, the left is the brake." Asami rubbed the bridge of her nose nervously—though an automatic transmission was easier for a new driver, the type of engine the Satomobile had was truly dangerous for a beginner. "Now, this is an 8 cylinder engine, General—that means it's very powerful upon acceleration, so you need to take it _very_ easy. If you accelerate too quickly, you could lose control."

Iroh gulped. "I'll go as slowly as I can."

"Last things," Asami pointed around to certain areas of the council. "The steering wheel should be pretty second nature, turning left goes left, and right goes right… Unless we're in reverse, which is a lesson for another day. Oh, and—seatbelt." She reached down to the gearshift as he turned away to secure his own. "Put your foot on the break please, General."

As his leather shoe gently pressed in the left pedal, Asami slid the gearshift into drive.

"Asam—Wait!"

"Let go of the brake, General," Asami chuckled, the evidence of her intoxication finally seeping through her miniature driving lesson. "The best way to learn something new is to dive in, right?" She reached down to his leg as he began to slowly steer out into the street, letting the vehicle roll slowly on its own.

As she pressed down on his knee, the car shot forward in a wild acceleration with a powerful roar. Iroh fought to steer the vehicle as Asami's force on his knee let up, the car gradually slowing down to a manageable speed.

"Where are we even going?!" He shouted, his arms stiff and hands glued to the wheel.

Asami looked up from her daze, too entertained by Iroh's reaction to focus. "Uh—Left?"

With a sudden slam on the brake, the Satomobile drew to a complete stop, tires screeching against the flagstone streets. "Th-there?" Iroh huffed, his pulse racing with adrenaline. "Asami, that's an alley."

"Exactly—a shortcut." Her expression brightened again in reaction to hearing her first name once more. "I'm actually not quite sure where I am right now—I just feel like my home is towards the left."

With a heavy huff, he turned the vehicle towards the alley cautiously and began to drive through. A bright, white light shone in Asami's peripherals—before her Satomobile could pull into the alley, a commercial Cabbage Car slammed into the side, flipping the vehicle over entirely; the tires of the vehicle had raised up onto the curb.

It felt as though time slowed down—random objects flew from the foot wells slowly; her handbag, its contents, a random pen or two all flew away.

Her eyes heavy, she looked to the General, who had shielded his head in a much faster response to what was happening. She could hear him screaming, yet it sounded muffled, as though she was hearing him through a thick wall.

"_I'm going to die_," She muttered, shutting her eyes as the surrounding world went black.

…

She woke with an ache, tucked beneath the white satin sheets of the grand master bed in her room. Asami sat up suddenly, breathing heavily. "It couldn't have been another dream," she gasped, looking around the room.

"Oh, it certainly wasn't," Mr. Chang interrupted, filling the vase of gardenias with fresh water. "You've been out asleep for over a day and half, Miss. I'd also urge you to inspect the large welts you have scattered across your body, if you'd like further evidence."

Looking over the deep bruises along her arms, Asami tried to remember exactly what happened. "Where's Iroh?"

"Do I look like his secretary, Ms. Sato?" The butler finished pouring fresh water into the vase and began to leave the room. "It's four in the afternoon, by the way. Perhaps you'd like to get out of bed sometime this century?"

Asami shook her head and slid off the side of the bed, her legs instantly aching as they felt the weight of her body pressing them down to the floor. With a groan, she attempted to walk over to the mirror attached to the large vanity; the General's flowers were in full bloom, with the exception of a single shy blossom near the bottom of the bouquet.

Her entire body ached, but she slid the shoulders of her nightgown down to look at the bruising on her back—it almost seemed as though an arm had been flung around her sharply, causing the deep, red arm-shaped welts. Asami's eyebrow furrowed as she started to notice them doing something odd.

As she focused, the pain she was in started to slowly subside, the bruises on her arms shrunk until they disappeared entirely. Overwhelmed by her confusion, she turned to look at her back—the place where Iroh had reached over to protect her was fading away.

"Dear Spirits," Asami muttered aloud, staring into the mirror as a welt on her neck drew back into her skin and disappeared. "Dear Spirits, dear Spirits—what the hell is _going on_?"

Pulling the straps of her nightgown back on, Asami dashed out of her room and down the hall to the grand staircase, observing the painting of her above the grand doorway from her perch upon the high stairs.

Her heart rate shot up in horror—the portrait had grown exponentially fouler, the skin of the painted version of herself welted and covered in dreadful bruises. It even seemed as though the woman depicted in oils had _aged_.

Desperate to take the evidence of the dark sorcery down, Asami ran back to her room and slid into a pair of shoes.

The painting had to go—it needed to be placed somewhere that no one would ever find, no one would ever notice the evidence of the change again. As Asami ran back down the stairs and out to the shed which held the step ladder, she ran past her father's workshop, a painful reminder of what had passed almost a year before.

_That's where I'll hide it_, she thought. Deep in the workshop, down in the catacombs no one ever went to anymore_. Then, I'll have the main structure destroyed; it'll seem like the workshop was never even there_.

She pulled the ladder out of the shed, and ran back into the house to take the painting down. As she grasped the frame with both hands, Asami thought she could almost hear the painting growl, as though it wished to remain where it was.

"You're not going to sit here and remind me of my sins," Asami barked back at the still picture. "You, my dear friend… You're going somewhere that no one will ever find you."

In the darkest catacombs of her father's hidden workshop, Asami found a secluded room—she threw the painting down upon a few wooden crates, and covered the image with a heavy tarp. As she walked out and locked the door, a demonic noise came from the cracks between the door and the frame; a deep scream that rumbled from the depths of the room with the force of a multitude of voices.

…

The smell of familiar incenses filled the room; Iroh tried to sit up quickly, but a sharp pain in his torso prevented him from doing so entirely. He groaned as he placed his hand on his ribs, which was swiftly swatted away by a hand that wasn't his own.

"Your Highness, your ribs are broken," A nurse scolded him, "Please refrain from touching them too much. You have quite a few broken bones, to be frank."

"I'm not in the hospital, am I?" He glanced around—no, the room was familiar. "Wait… That's not possible."

"Your Highness, you're in the royal palace. I can send for the Fire Lady if you wish." The nurse picked up a tray of medications and began to walk out of the grand brass door.

"That won't be necessary—I need to get back to the fleet," Iroh shook his head, trying to remember why he was back home in the first place, let alone with broken bones. It was a blur; nothing he could recall made sense. The last thing he could remember was Asami kissing him in the bar, and he couldn't remember why she had done so in the first place. More important than his fleet, he wanted to make sure she was okay, too.

"Your fleet departed from the harbor a day ago, Prince Iroh. I'm afraid they're long gone by now." The nurse began to close the door behind her. "You mother wished for me to call her as soon as you awoke regardless—I'll send for her promptly."

Within a few moments, the Fire Lady came rushing in the door. At first, Iroh couldn't tell if she was overwhelmed with joy or completely furious. Raising an eyebrow at her peculiar body language, he decided to assume both were true.

This was quickly confirmed with a sharp slap across his cheek.

"Iroh!" She exclaimed, her face fuming red. "I'm—I'm so happy you're awake, but you've done something incredibly stupid!" She leant down to hug him cautiously, careful to not hurt his broken bones or bruises. "What on earth were you doing _driving_? It figures that you'd get into a terrible accident on your first try."

"Mom, I…" Iroh raised his hand to his now sore cheek, adding on to the many things that ached.

"There's no excusing this!" The Fire Lady glared. "You could've _killed _yourself and that poor girl you were with."

"Asami? She's… She's alive?"

"Of course," his mother shook her head. "I had the police report expedited here, I wanted to know what the only heir to the throne of the Fire Nation was doing, even thinking about driving one of those dangerous vehicles. In their report, they stated that the young woman you were with was heavily under the influence of a substance." She paused once, tapping her chin with her forefinger. "Oh, and you also totaled the car."

The memories slowly started to form; the Opium bar, the brief driving lesson she had given him, the truck that slammed into the Satomobile which forced his memories back into the depths of his subconscious. "I was trying to do the right thing. She couldn't drive herself home."

"Chivalry is only appropriate if it _doesn't risk your life_, Iroh," his mother finally took a seat on the bed, seemingly coming to terms with the relief that her son was still alive. "Just because you think something is what a brave prince would do, or something that your grandfather would do… It doesn't mean you should do it."

"Mom," Iroh paused, trying to change the subject. "Why did the commander leave so quickly?"

The Fire Lady sat back a bit, perplexed by his question. "You've been resting for three days, sweetheart. Commander Bumi brought you back here, you should be thankful for that."

"I had business in the Capitol," Iroh shook his head. He was truly concerned for Asami; just because she survived the accident didn't mean she was okay. "I need to get back there as soon as I can."

"Which will be when you're fully healed," his mother grumbled. "There's no way for your ribs to heal properly if you return to active duty. Until the physician says you're all better, you're required to remain within the palace grounds." She stood up from the bed slowly, fetching a pair of crutches from the far side of his wall and placed them close to his bed. "Your right leg is broken as well, which you probably haven't yet noticed due to the pain medications. You'll need these to get around."

As his mother left the room, he considered just how far away he was from what exactly had happened. Three days had passed, and now he was thousands of miles away from the city.

He was back home, in the beautiful, sheltered volcanic palace he had grown up in. This room wasn't his childhood room; perhaps one of the many royal guest rooms, or a remodeling of his former abode. Reaching out for the crutches his mother had left at the side of his bed, Iroh attempted to hoist himself up, suddenly feeling the sharp pain in his broken right leg. Grinding his teeth together as he sat up straight, Iroh tried to stand up slowly, bracing his fragile torso against the wooden crutches.

The golden hallways of the palace were cold, yet radiated warmth in their familiarity; Iroh slowly progressed down the hall, the pattern of the crutches under his hands alternating with his good leg became second-nature as he focused on his destination. The cast coating his right leg in a protective barrier was at first a hassle, but soon became familiar.

In the center of the palace was a beautiful courtyard, the center of it possessing an ancient tree which shaded a small turtle duck pond. As he took a seat on the stone bench under the tree that was older than his grandfather, Iroh looked out into the calm waters of the pond, undisturbed by the family of turtle ducks which slept on the warm, soft grasses nearby.

The air here always smelled of sulfur, an ever present reminder that his home rested upon an active volcano. Iroh rested the crutches upon the ancient tree and leant back, focusing his eyes upon the hazy yellow sky. He was trapped here, in this magnificent palace, unable to leave.

"And it's my own doing," he muttered aloud to himself, shaking his head. If only he had never taken the wheel, if he had only persuaded her to call a taxi, things could've been different. He'd still be in the capitol for a few more days, not stuck in the Fire Nation for a few weeks.

Months, maybe. Iroh sighed, burying his head in his aching arms. He wanted to return to his work, wanted to be better, wanted to apologize to Asami, but most importantly, wanted to see if she was truly okay. _Bumi is right_, he thought silently. _She does have my head in a mess_.

…

* * *

_-Thanks for reading! A new chapter should be up by next Wednesday at the latest. Reviews are always appreciated, and I always take them into consideration when I'm writing!_


	9. Ch IX: Don't Last Long

-Chapter IX-

_"Some things are more precious because they don't last long."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

"Wait, _what _happened?" Korra glanced out of Asami's garage window to the sight of a massive Satodozer demolishing the old workshop that served as one of her most powerful memories of Asami's home. Releasing a sigh of relief, she returned her focus to Asami, who was busy at work inspecting the engine of Mako's Satocycle. "Why in the name of the Spirits was General Iroh driving your car?"

"I wasn't in any condition to drive," Asami peeked out from under the hydraulics that lifted the bike up to her eye level. "There wasn't much choice—I think an accident was inevitable. The lesser of the two evils was undoubtedly us surviving, which may not have happened if I were driving."

The young industrial titan unconsciously rubbed her cheek on the shoulder of her sleeve, unintentionally smearing a small amount of motor oil onto her jaw as she returned her focus to the engine. As she inspected the nooks and crannies between the engine and body, Asami raised her eyebrow at the source of her ex-boyfriend's technical issues—the motorcycle's clutch was so worn down from neglect, it'd fall out at almost any time, rendering the transmission of the vehicle completely out of control.

"Korra, does Mako understand that this vehicle isn't automatic?" Asami chuckled, playing with the hydraulic controls to look at some aspects of the vehicle that were more towards the top of the machine. "If he does, he's sure not taking good care of the transmission on this poor thing."

Korra shook her head in disappointment, trying to recall how Mako had evaded near disaster before. "I mean, they gave him a crash course on how to use it because Mako told them he knew how to drive a Satomobile…I think he just didn't want to spend too much time on that part of his training because he's seen you drive one of, uh… _these_ so many times." Korra gestured down to the bike, somewhat realizing how foolish Mako's explanation sounded coming from her.

"I never _taught_ him how to drive a Satomoblie, and the only things he's seen me drive are automatic," Asami grumbled, flabbergasted that the police department would choose to overlook training for someone such as Mako due to a blatant lie. "Future Industries doesn't manufacture automatic Satocycles, that'd be too expensive. And… I don't think he's ever seen me drive one of these. Perhaps he mistook my moped for one."

Leaning her elbows over the leather seat of the bike, Asami sighed; the boys had accompanied Korra, and were in the mansion passing the time. Surely they'd have time for a formal lesson for Mako, at least maybe a run-through of the proper ways to use the transmission. "You should bring him over here," she threw off her grease-coated gloves, feeling her face for the smudge of grease she could sense was present. "Mako, that is. I want to explain to him how to actually _use_ this bike."

Nodding, Korra slowly walked out of the garage, captivated by the low rumbles of the corrugated steel snapping the wooden beams that held them up and in place; she couldn't help but feel amazed—the workshop was _gone_. The young Avatar shook her head swiftly, and hopped into a jog towards one of the rear entrances to the expansive Sato estate.

Asami watched her cautiously from the open motorized door of the garage, noticing her friend's focus on the hiding place of her deepest secret. It wasn't as though Korra had any intention of entering the underground workshop, especially considering the lot would soon be paved over with fresh dirt and layers of sodded grass. Surely, Korra had no clue about this; Asami made a point of noticing that Korra _didn't notice_ her portrait above the entrance had vanished. Sitting on the seat of the Satocycle still locked into the garage's hydraulics, Asami rubbed her arm uneasily—perhaps her friend simply _sensed _something coming from deep underground, locked away, covered in a dusty tarp.

_She does know, Sweetheart_.

"I want to deny it," Asami replied to the parasite in a low mutter, picking up a wrench to twirl between her fingers. "I have no reason to believe Korra is that in-tune with her spiritual side just yet."

_Better safe than sorry_.

Her hands moving as though the dark slug nudged between the vertebrae of her spine had taken full control, Asami lent down over the bike, and slammed the wrench forcefully into one of the deteriorating segments of the Satocycle's clutch. With a sharp metallic clank, the gear began to crack.

"What are you _doing_?" Asami shouted, then realizing she was only shouting at to herself. She knew she didn't have the parts at the garage to replace a slipper clutch, and the one Mako had was in tolerable condition for the moment—until the wrench had slammed down into it.

_You did that yourself, Sweetheart… I don't control you anymore._

It made sense—Asami sat up on the seat of the bike, holding her head in her bare hands. She had never been able to argue with the slug before; it always took full control, always made her into its puppet. Now, it had decided to stop. Asami looked up in terror; just out of the range of her vision, she could hear a door being opened; Korra and Mako were undoubtedly on their way over to the garage.

She rushed over to the tool cabinets, pulling out a foaming lubricant that'd temporarily mask the appearance or sensation that the Satocycle was dysfunctional. Carefully applying the spray, it filled in the gash her wrench had made; it'd hold in place until Asami could find replacement parts. Wiping the sweat that nearly dropped onto the drying lubricant off her forehead, she quickly replaced the bottle back where it belonged just as Mako appeared in the doorway ahead of his girlfriend.

"Hey, Asami!" Mako chimed, seemingly much more chipper than she remembered him. "How's the bike? Sorry that this is the first time we've spoken in months, but… You know, at least we're here, right?" His thought was suddenly interrupted by Korra, who jumped onto his back as he leaned further into the garage.

"Well, I…" Asami forced a smile, wanting to accept her friends' happiness. "I just wanted to run through a few things about the transmission of your bike, and how the way you're treating it isn't going to last you very long."

"Sure thing," Mako playfully nudged Korra away, looking closer at his bike. "I guess I haven't been going easy on this hunk of metal, have I?"

Asami chuckled once, glancing down at the part of the clutch she had sabotaged. "Unquestionably. It needs to be treated like you know how to drive it." She thought back to the physical action of slamming the wrench into the clutch; _had she done that consciously_?

"Pft, I know what I'm doing, Asami. I know how to drive it." Mako shook his head arrogantly, dismissing her criticism of his driving capacity. "It's not my fault they gave me a cheap bike."

Mildly perturbed by his hubris, Asami folded her arms and looked Mako in the eyes with a sudden spread of mild anger. "If your department intended to give you a cheap motorcycle, they would've issued you a Cabbage Bike, not a Satocycle." Asami's contracts with the RCPD were always ones made in earnest; the department wanted quality vehicles for their officers to operate, not things that would break down from a single fender bender, not machines that couldn't catch up to a fleeing criminal. Pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand, Asami slammed her other down on the seat of the bike. "_This bike_, Mako, _was _probably worth all of your first year's salary put together when they issued it to you."

Korra shook her head, noticing an argument was about to ensue between her friend and boyfriend. "Hey, maybe we should go get Bolin?" Korra attempted to interject, but the discussion had already escalated too far.

"Asami, how do you presume to know how much money I make?" Mako threw his hands down and to the side. "You sound so much like your father… Who cares what my paycheck looks like? I thought you of all people surely wouldn't."

"That's not my_ point_, Mako," Asami shook her head. "My point is that you should be treating this bike better… because it's honestly worth more than _you_ are."

"-Hey, what about those lessons, Asami?" Korra put herself between the two of them, as though a physical barrier would bring the heated argument to a sudden halt, glaring up to Mako as though she blamed him for starting the fight. "Maybe you could just show us a thing or two Mako could do differently?"

"I don't think she has anything worth teaching me," Mako looked down, speaking directly to Korra as he began to walk out of the garage. "I'm going to go get Bolin. When I come back, we're leaving."

…

As he planned ways to get better faster from the confines of the Royal Palace, Iroh only seemed to ache more; every pressure he put on himself to power through the wounds was only met with exponentially increasing pain, particularly within his torso where his ribs were still in pieces.

Dinner in the palace was always at seven; everything here was orderly, systematic, following of procedure. It was how the prince was raised, and was often reflected in how he ran the fleet. Yet his mother's variety of control was almost too extreme for him; he felt as though he were being treated as a child.

"When you're injured, you may as well be," the Fire Lady lectured him over her dish of Komodo Rhino sausage and stewed ocean kumquats.

Iroh turned up his nose at the flamboyant Fire Nation dish; he had grown used to the noodle stew the water tribe chef aboard his ship had made, and anything else seemed far too spicy these days. "Mother, I need to return to the Capitol as soon as possible."

"You keep saying that," she diligently sipped at a glass of red wine. "Why, exactly? Don't give me any of that I-just-have-to-nonsense, I want an actual answer."

Iroh raised his unbroken arm to rest his elbow on the table, massaging his aching migraine with his hand. "The girl—the one I was driving in the police report you read. I need to make sure she's okay."

"Take your elbow off the table, Iroh."

The prince sighed, removing his arm from the table. "Mother, I—I'm being completely serious!"

"I know," she waved a hand in his direction. "Is she nobility? Or at least of Fire Nation descent?"

"You think I want to _marry_ her?" The general grumbled. "Mother, I said I wanted to make sure she's _okay_. She was in that car accident, too."

"Sato, if I recall? Right?" The Fire Lady chased a kumquat around on her plate with her chopsticks. "That name sounds awfully familiar, and somewhat of the Fire Nation."

Iroh pushed his half-eaten plate of food aside as a servant came around to collect it. "Her father is Hiroshi Sato. He started Future Industries, but he also conspired with Amon during the Equalist Revolution."

"So she's _not_ nobility," his mother raised her glass of wine up off the table just before bringing it to her lips. "And she comes from dirty money? Hardly becoming of your social stature, sweetie."

"Mom, for the last time—I'm not trying to marry her. I'm almost ten years older than her."

"Hey, that never stopped Avatar Aang's son, did it?"

…

Korra watched as Mako stomped out onto the lawn, tossing his red scarf angrily over his shoulder. Concerned about why the argument had escalated so quickly between him and Asami, she turned back to her friend. "What exactly was that, Asami?"

"He disrespected me and my product," Asami glared, leaning against the bike with folded arms. "Then, he had the audacity to compare me to my… _father_." Though she wouldn't admit it to Korra, the remark had stung like pressure on a deeply ingrown splinter, digging the foreign object further and further into her flesh. Becoming Hiroshi was one of Asami's greatest fears; she dreaded it, resented her father and his species of deranged justice.

"Well, you did talk down to him quite a bit, Asami… You didn't really sound like yourself," Korra shook her head slowly, sliding her hands under the sash she wore around her waist. "Not that he had any right to say what he did… He's just really proud of himself with this new job, and you put him down." The young Avatar glanced out the open garage door to the back lawn; Hiroshi's workshop was nearly completely leveled, and landscapers had begun to lay strips of grass over the remaining pavement. "…It's good to see that place gone, by the way."

"What place?" Asami looked up, remembering gradually that the workshop was being demolished, the only reasonable way to access Asami's last dark secret. "…Oh, the workshop?"

"Yeah," Korra nodded her head, noticing that the Mako was returning with Bolin—the younger brother looked confused, almost disappointed to be leaving Asami's home early. "Why almost a year later, though?"

Asami quietly began to release the tires from the hydraulics, then pushed the kickstand down into place so the bike wouldn't fall over. "I'm letting go of that part of myself," she muttered, walking back over to one of the counters so she could stand away from her disgruntled ex-boyfriend upon his return.

As Mako fetched his helmet, he urged Bolin to hop on. Korra tried to respond to her friend; instead, her words were drowned out by the ignition of Mako's Satocycle inside the small garage. Within moments, the boys drove off, leaving Korra in the garage with Asami once more.

Asami raised a brow at the hostile gesture from Mako, then turned to Korra. "What about you?"

"Naga," Korra smiled, dismissing the need for her to leave immediately. "I guess this means we're not doing dinner after all."

"I suppose not," Asami shrugged coldly.

The young Avatar sensed something was off with her friend; walking over to place a hand on Asami's shoulder, Korra tried to bring her attention back to what she thought was the root of the problem. "Hey—what did you mean by 'letting go of that part' of yourself?" Though this week was the first time in months that Korra had seen Asami, the difference in time only contributed to the sense that the young heiress had dramatically changed. "I liked the old you, Asami."

"The _old_ me?" Her wild green eyes widened, believing that Korra had somehow caught on to the secret being buried under a layer of sod by landscapers. "The old me, how can you presume to tell the difference, Korra?"

"Well, for starters," Korra defended herself. "You smell like grapes and smoke instead of your usual self, and… You're not…"

"Not _what_?" Asami barked. "Not a pushover? Not little-miss-pity-me? Not some naive princess?" She walked closer to her friend, towering into Korra's personal space.

"You're not _nice_, Asami," Korra stood her ground, bundling her hands into fists. "You're not as nice as you used to be. What in Agni's hot hell happened to you?"

_She doesn't seem to know, sweetheart—doesn't mean she's not a threat_. _Tell her what she doesn't want to hear._

"_You did_, Korra," Asami's voice lowered to a tone that had begun to grow on her, the sound she associated with the dark parasite residing along her spine. "_You_ happened. _You_ ruined everything for me."

"This is about _Mako_?" Korra threw her hands down, completely flabbergasted with her friend's accusation. "Spirits, I thought we got past this, Asami!"

Asami knew what she said was a blatant lie, but it was something she knew Korra feared, something she never wanted to hear come across Asami's dark red lips. The last thing she cared about was Korra's relationship with her ex-boyfriend; it was the past, it was irrelevant. Asami grinned, the black slug beginning to seep through her extremities. "It's about however you'd like to interpret that, Korra."

The young Avatar backed out of the garage and made a loud whistle, signaling for her polarbear dog to head over. As she pulled herself up onto the dog's blue saddle, she looked down at her friend one last time. "I… I'll see you later, Asami."

"Sure," Asami shrugged. "If you say so."

As the blur of white fur trailed off down the hill towards the city, Asami glanced around the now barren estate; again she was alone, save the butler and perhaps a few more staff members. Intertwining her hands behind her neck, she paced slowly across the lawn to one of the back doors, gazing over at her secret's hiding place as she progressed.

It was almost as though the workshop was never there. Asami had instructed the landscapers to sod over a single metal hatch that accessed the elevator down to the workshop; she could still enter, but only if she absolutely needed to. To anyone else, it'd seem like the rest of the lawn… perfect, pristine, untouched.

Asami acknowledged that Korra' sentiments were justified; she had undoubtedly changed. She felt closed off, cold, isolated, alone. Yet these feelings were almost comforting—Asami felt safe in this form of independence.

She found herself in the foyer again, glancing up to the blank wall where the portrait had once hung. Leaning back on the handrail of the grand staircase, Asami took out her father's last grape cigarillo from her pocket, igniting it with a silver lighter she had decided to purchase the day before. Despite her embrace of her new self, something seemed entirely off; a part of Asami's heart ached, as though it desperately needed a cure for something no substance could provide.

As the thick grape smoke circled around her long locks of dark hair, Asami could feel her cheeks welling with heat, as though she were about to break down and sob uncontrollably.

Rubbing the condensation of emotions form her cheek with the sleeve of her racing jacket, Asami took a heavy huff of the chemicals and exhaled with a slow tremble.

"Everything alright, Ms. Sato?" Mr. Chang walked by with a raise of his curious brow. "You need anything, perhaps?"

"No—well, yes, yes I do," Asami shook her head as she began to walk up the stairs. "I'm afraid it's nothing you can bring to me, however."

"If you say so, ma'am," the butler shook his head and walked off down one of the halls. "There's truly little I can't carry."

Silently, Asami pushed open the door to her bedroom, placing the smoldering cigarillo on an ash tray gently as she approached the large vanity across from her bed. Her fingers raised to the white gardenias, still blooming despite the evaporating water in the basin of the vase. "Persistent little things," she muttered to the flowers, picking up the vase to take it to the bathroom sink.

As the vase filled with fresh, cold water, a single, waxy green leaf wilted off onto the tiled floor.

...

* * *

_-Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated-I read them all! I currently have a lot of spare time this week, so I may get Chapter 10 in before this weekend. If not, 10 will be up next Wednesday at the latest!_


	10. Ch X: Inevitable

-Chapter X-

_"The past could always be annihilated. Regret, denial, or forgetfulness could do that. But the future was inevitable."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

Firmly pacing down the golden halls, Prince Iroh had finally grown fed up with his forced isolation within the palace walls. His ribs had nearly completed their healing, and the fracture in his leg was strong enough to walk on with a brace, yet the Fire Lady had insisted he remain until all his bones were completely healed.

That response from her would not suffice. A month had passed; a month in which Iroh had all the time in the world to do nothing but think about things in his life.

"Mother!" Iroh's voice boomed as he threw open the doors to her throne room, where she was discussing public affairs issues with a handful of her personal advisors. "Mom, I'm leaving today, whether you like it or not."

With a curious raise of her brow, the Fire Lady dismissed the low-ranking politicians. "Iroh, sweetie, you're not quite ready to," she shook her head firmly. "Your physician said you needed at least another week."

"She said that two weeks ago!" The general threw his arms down angrily, beginning to believe his mother held a conspiracy to keep him home. "Mother, if you're just trying to keep me here, then I… I have even more motive to leave this place."

Commander Bumi hadn't responded to the telegram the young prince had sent him days ago; Iroh was aware that the Fire Lady and his subordinate officer had a history, even grew up together. Perhaps she had warned him to ignore all incoming transmissions unless they personally came from her, perhaps Bumi wanted Iroh off of his fleet entirely. Either way, the general knew _something_ was wrong—four weeks was more than enough time for him to regain his strength.

"How _exactly_ do you plan to leave?" She scoffed, resting her head on her closed fist. "The Commander won't come rescue you from home, my son. Trust me, he's no knight in shining armor. Never has been—Bumi looks out for himself above all else."

"I don't need him to get where I want to be, Mother," Iroh shook his head, raising one of his hands to his temple. "I can take a private ship. Agni, I could probably even send Ms. Sato a telegram—she has biplanes, a pilot could come get me."

"I highly doubt that'll happen, sweetie," the Fire Lady shook her head. "Good luck."

"I don't need your wishes for luck, Mother," Iroh grumbled as he began to walk out of the throne room. "Do you want me to send your politicians back in? I'll be leaving as soon as I've gathered my things."

"Sure," his mother dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "You're a grown man, Iroh—though I'd rather keep you here, and keep you safe, all I can truly give you is those wishes for luck."

Gathering the things he needed didn't take too long; his toothbrush, soap, a few sets of clean clothing, and his uniform. He was already in his casual clothing, and had been for days—he assumed at any time, however, that he could be called back to duty. The majority of the things he wanted to have with him were in his cabin, aboard his ship, which was a slight inconvenience. The prince was too determined to worry, however—yuans were never an issue in his family, and he could easily buy replacements along the way if he needed to.

Slinging the United Forces duffle bag of his necessities over his shoulder, the prince walked out of the palace doors. The Fire Lady didn't need a good-bye; he didn't need her last plea to manipulate him into staying.

The majority of the people in the Fire Nation Capitol knew Iroh by his face; adolescent girls flocked over as he quickly paced down what he thought was the more quiet city streets.

"P-prince Iroh!" One would shout, holding out a compact fountain pen and sheets of papyrus. "Can I have your autograph, Prince?"

He'd try to decline; only more young fans would spot him if she stopped to sign anything.

"Look! There he is!"

"It's the prince!"

"He's _mine_! Back off!"

His fast-paced walk drew into a dash, running heavily through the squeals to the pier on his still injured leg with the luggage still slung over his shoulder. Grasping the broken limb with his open as he ran, Iroh turned the corner towards one of the docks. To his shock, he wasn't in the commercial shipping sector of the harbor; he had ended up in the fishing district.

With a crowd of young women just out of earshot, Iroh ran up to the first fisherman he saw.

"E-excuse me, sir?" He begged the old man, desperately looking over his shoulder. "Could I, uh, perhaps… I need to get to the United Republic's Capitol as soon as possible, and I seem to have people… chasing me."

"W-heh?" The old man raised a hand to cup his ear. "I didn't hear yeh, me'boy. Speak up."

Just out of the corner of his golden eyes, the prince could see the first of the fans. He hurriedly grasped the old man by the arm, leading him to his fishing boat. "Sir, there's not much time for me to explain—I need to get to Republic City."

The old man's eyes widening at the proposition, he still didn't seem to recognize his homeland's crowned prince, nor could he clearly hear the crowd of fans growing ever closer. "R-Republic City? Me'boy, that's quite a trip. 'Fraid I'm just a small fishing boat, nothing special in the least."

"I'll pay you very well, cover all the fuel costs—We just need to go-" Iroh grasped the old man by the shoulders, looking to one of the young women running down the wooden pier. "-We need to go, right now!"

With a sailor-like nod, the old man agreed. "Untie me rope, son. I'll start'er up!"

As soon as Iroh could detach the thick rope from a wooden beam on the dock, the engine roared to life; the foremost fan in the race nearly fell into the murky waters of the harbor as the boat drew away slowly.

The young girl's face fumingly red as the rest caught up, Iroh waved with a confident smile. "I wouldn't jump in if I were you, ladies," the prince grinned, content with his narrow escape. "Have a nice day, and don't forget to pay your taxes!"

With the open sea becoming the only sight on the horizon, Iroh leaned back along the bow of the small ship. The smell of the salty air greeted him warmly, reminding him he was heading back to where he wanted to be.

"So, what be yer name, me'boy?" The old fisherman turned back, steering the ship gently. "Yeh can call me Zoru, if ye wish."

"Iroh," the General replied calmly, slowly relaxing back and looking up at the wide open sky past the harbor gates. The same gates used to house a statue of Azulon, one of the most ruthless Fire Lords in the Nation's history—now all that remained were a large pair of stone feet in the center of the harbor exit.

"Yer named a-far the great General?" Zoru replied with a chuckle through a gap in his aged teeth. "Great man, the old General Iroh. Mentored the old Fire Lord he ded, should'a been one heself."

"I never got to meet him," Iroh sighed; he always feared he'd never live up to his namesake. "I'd imagine you only saw him as a child?"

"Sure ded, saw him as a'boy once of only ten yers. He was still great, even then." As a pregnant silence grew between the two, the old fisherman tried to change the subject. "So, what's in Republic City?"

"Someone… Someone I _think_ I love."

…

Running her fingers through her hair slowly, Asami looked down at the headlines of her morning newspaper while she waited for Chang to finish preparing her breakfast. No freak accidents, no dead cops. With a heavy sigh, she rested her elbows on the granite countertop of the breakfast bar, the smell of freshly scrambled eggs and hashed swamp potatoes filling the room. There wasn't even a mention of the United Forces fleet returning to town on the front page; the past three weeks had been a repeating cycle of complete solitude and board meetings.

"I don't understand why you trouble yourself with the paper every morning, m'lady," the butler turned away from the stove between a flip of the eggs. "Always depressing, the news is. The only kind of good news is no news."

"What do you think I'm reading it for?" Asami giggled slightly, reaching out to a glass of warm tea.

"News of your prince charming, perhaps," Mr. Chang shrugged, showing a rare moment of some form of sympathy, maybe even compassion. "I know you miss him, even if I think you feeling so is completely foolish."

"I do miss him, Chang—that's not the reason I read it, though." Asami bluffed slightly, trying to avoid the direly personal topic of foreseeing potentially fatal injuries falling upon her ex-boyfriend. "I like to be an informed citizen."

A fresh plate of breakfast slid across the counter to her, followed by a set of silverware. "Ms. Sato, of all the odd habits for you to keep in this _new_ self of yours, your insistence on having the morning paper every single day at breakfast is by far the _most_ peculiar." The butler briefly checked his wristwatch, and began to walk out of the kitchen. "It's currently nine, m'lady—and it's a Friday. Your board meeting is at ten-thirty."

"Thanks, Chang," Asami waved her hand, sprinkling pepper upon her breakfast with the other.

As she put the seasoning down, she flipped to the second page; there had been a small mention of Iroh, but Bumi was the lead story. He was slated to return to the city for a meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

What was even odder was the significant change in title the Commander had received-the article read: "_Admiral Bumi set to come into town for a meeting of the Joint Chiefs within the next day, General Iroh II of the United Forces Marines still at home in the Fire Nation for the time being_."

With a disgruntled sigh, the young industrial queen skimmed further down the article. "_Admiral Bumi, formerly Commander Bumi, was promoted to his current station for his valiant rescue of the Prince of the Fire Nation and General of the United Forces Maries, Iroh II_. _Misfortune befell the young general nearly a month ago when he was involved in a catastrophic vehicular accident with a Cabbage Truck, breaking the majority of his ribs and right leg. Admiral Bumi was a first responder, who quickly took General Iroh II home to the Fire Nation Capitol to heal."_

"_The Joint Chiefs of Staff oversee the United Republic's Department of Defense matters, advising the United Council on all matters concerning the military. Because of General Iroh's extensive injuries, he is set to be absent at this meeting. Though the topic of the meeting has been kept classified, the Republic City Times can only speculate that the meeting has been called to discuss recent uprisings in the fractured cells of the Equalist Revolution."_

Asami rolled her eyes; the Equalist Revolution had subsided almost a year ago. She hardly believed they'd still be having problems with the rebellion, particularly considering how little such things had been mentioned in the news. The media had probably been fed a blatant lie.

_What's the real reason, sweetheart?_

"Who knows?" Asami replied aloud to the parasite as she began to stroll out of the kitchen and up the stairs. "I don't really understand their military matters, anyways. It seems equally odd that Bumi taking the General back to the Fire Nation would be coined a _rescue_, too."

As she pulled together her proper clothes for the day, Asami glanced out the back window of her room to the lawn; it seemed as though the workshop had never been there in the first place now with how thickly the grass had grown over the cement foundation.

The white gardenias were still blooming brightly upon the vanity. As her emerald eyes drew away from the window and towards the mirror that framed the fragrant flowers, Asami couldn't help but wonder if Chang had been slowly replacing them while she was out; a bouquet never lasted _this_ long.

Her suspicion was denied as she approached the bundle of white flowers—the single bud in the lower half of the bouquet that had taken so long to meet its fruition was, slowly but surely, beginning to open.

As she slid on her dress, she began to walk out the door of her room; Asami had things to do on the way to her board meeting.

…

As the small fishing boat pulled into the large harbor of Yue Bay, Iroh raised his head out of his sleep, startled by the shouting of the fisherman; old Zoru had taken the last shift at the helm of the boat, and seemed a bit overwhelmed with the size of the piers.

"Iroh, me'boy! We done arrived!"

As Iroh sat up and looked around, the small rickety boat seemed like a mouse in the alleys of the city between the massive barges and battleships, dwarfed by the commercial shipping liners and luxurious cruise ships.

Their journey had taken two days; it was early on a Friday morning. "This is perhaps one of the worst days of the week to come into the harbor," the prince chuckled to the old man as he stood up and walked towards the helm. "We probably lack the required credentials to dock, so perhaps you could just drop me off without anchoring?" He quickly pulled his billfold out of his pocket, fingering through a few hundred Yuans he had found lying around the palace. "Here—two-fifty, that should cover all your costs, right Zoru?"

"Iroh-boy, 'tis far too much," the old man shook his head as he steered slowly towards one of the cement docks, trying to approach as cautiously as possible.

"No, sir, I insist," Iroh quickly shoved the bills in the old man's pockets, and began to run towards the dock the small fishing boat was drifting near. "My family has too much of this, anyways."

The old man's eyes widened with the realization of who this Iroh was—not _just any_ Iroh named for the great old General, but the great nephew. "Wait—Iroh, me'boy! Yer—ye the prince!"

As he hopped across the gap of water quickly, Iroh waved kindly then shouted back to the old man. "Thank you for everything, Zoru! Thanks… Thanks for treating me like a normal person, I don't get that often back home."

"I didn't _know_ ye wer the prince!" The old man shouted back, slowly steering the fishing boat back out to sea. "Hope ye find yer love!"

The air in the city was far cooler than back home in the Fire Nation; with the passing month, the presence of autumn was even more distinct. Iroh adjusted his duffle bag of possessions and proceeded to head down the city streets aimlessly, not sure where he'd head first.

His black leather shoes carried him carefully to the central market, a bazaar filled with warm smells and hearty fall fruits, kebabs, loud banter, fresh breads and meats. The roar of the crowds formed a haze over the open mid-autumn square, thousands of people looking around for groceries on the early Friday morning.

A nearby stand looked familiar; a woman peddling bouquets of flowers. Curiously, Iroh peered over the selection, noticing to his disappointment that she wasn't selling any gardenias.

"No gardenias, ma'am?" Iroh questioned, his fingers dancing over a selection of bright, daisy-like flowers.

"Sir, gardenias are out of season. They stop blooming in late summer," she grinned to her customer while arranging a new bouquet of flowers. "Right now, we have aster and chrysanthemums."

The Prince's heart sunk a little, realizing that perhaps the flowers he got for Asami had stopped blooming, too. "Well, that's a shame. I should study my botany a bit more."

He proceeded to drift through another segment of the market, finally deciding that he craved some sort of food besides fish; the smells of the meats were sublime, but even cooked meats sounded unappetizing. Iroh continued on towards one of the many restaurants at the fringes of the market, craving a pastry of some variety.

A large sign that denoted _Bakery_ drew him in, just as he saw a flash of black hair from beneath a motorbike's helmet approaching on the congested street. "A-_Asami_?" He stopped dead in his tracks, trying to make out the figure of the approaching driver.

The Satocycle slowed to a stop, and the green glass of the driving goggles were lifted up upon the rider's helmet. Curiously, the driver shut off her engine and pressed down the kickstand with her foot.

"_Iroh_? They said you wouldn't be in town at all," Asami stood back from him, surprised to see the general in the city. "I heard… I heard you got really hurt in the accident. I'm really sorry about that."

"It's completely fine," the young prince shook his head happily, ignoring the dull ache in his torso from his nearly healed ribs. "I'm terribly hungry however—if you're in no hurry, would you mind accompanying me to this bakery?"

"I just had breakfast, actually, and I'm on the way to a board meeting," Asami paused, a bit disappointed by the inconvenient timing. "But, I am the CEO, after all… and I have some time to spare. The board members can wait."

The young heiress quickly chained her bike to a nearby lamp post as Iroh window shopped for the perfect pastry. Once she secured the lock, she hopped over behind the prince, wrapping her arms around his stomach. "I really _did_ miss you," she muttered, peeking over his shoulder to see which baked treat he was considering.

In a combination of pain and surprise from the embrace, Iroh masked both reactions with a low chuckle. "I missed you, too," he turned around, lowering her arms away from the sensitive bones. "You haven't been getting into too much trouble, have you?"

"No, not really," Asami beamed. "There hasn't been much trouble around lately for me to find my way into."

"What do you mean by that?" Iroh questioned curiously.

"I… Well, the Command-er, _Admiral_ has been gone all this time," Asami began, going over the uneventful month she had. She hadn't done much—a few new meetings, a few new purchases of cigars and liquor, a few trips to the bars alone. "And, I think I accidentally severed any ties I had left with the rest of my friends."

"_Admiral_?" The General raised a brow, unaware of his former subordinate's new title. "Admiral who?"

"Bumi," Asami shrugged. "You hadn't heard the news? He's supposed to come into port sometime soon for a meeting of the Joint Chiefs."

Iroh grimaced. A meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was something he was also required to attend. "Of course not. Undoubtedly, that announcement was kept from me."

"_Huh_," she nodded her head forward, pointing out to Iroh that the cashier was ready to take his order. "That's peculiar."

As the cashier handed Iroh a paper-wrapped curry puff, the general glanced out the bakery window; _what was Bumi up to_? He couldn't quite decide—the fact that the Commander had risen to the rank of Admiral, the highest ranking within the United Forces Navy, was staggering enough. They were now equals.

Taking his modest breakfast out to a black iron table on the bakery's patio, Asami sat at the seat across from him. Though it was chilly, the little restaurant had nowhere to eat inside.

Asami tried to break the brief silence between them. "So, General—how are you feeling now?"

"Significantly better," he lied between chews of the spice-filled bread. "And you?"

"I… I only had a few bruises," Asami reached over her shoulder to rub her back, the place where the bruise his arm had left in her defense had mysteriously faded away. "Nothing of mine got broken—excluding the car, that is."

With a few heavy breaths between his small meal, the General glanced up to Asami from the paper remains. "Well, that's the main reason I returned—I wanted to know you were okay."

"Really?" Asami chortled, recalling some of their last conversations. "I was under the assumption that you just… missed me." Asami rubbed her neck with a heavy, self-conscious pressure, thinking he'd have no reason to remain as long as she wasn't hurt. "So, is that it?"

"W-what?" Iroh coughed on the remnants of the spiced pastry, perplexed by her sudden change of tone.

"You're just going to leave, right? Duties and such. Military things. I'm okay, so you have no reason to _not_ return to your work with the United Forces."

"That's not true," he shook his head firmly.

Asami grumbled, slightly angry and confused. She glanced up to a clock in the bazaar; it was ten-twenty. "I'm going to be late," she muttered aloud.

"I thought that didn't matter."

"It does… But," Asami pinched the bridge of her nose, leaning forward on the table. "You could've sent a telegram, if that's all you wanted to know. Iroh, why are you still here?"

He frowned, his jaw trembling slightly. "I could ask you the same thing, Asami."

Asami bit her lower lip, standing up from the table briskly. He bolted to stand up at the same time, a combination of his vicious manners and surprise at her sudden movement. As she began to turn away to walk towards her Satocycle, he caught her by the sleeve from across the small black iron table. "_Wait_," he pleaded, trying to slow her down.

"I'm not a _child_," she argued, scowling into his amber eyes as she tried to free her arm from his grasp. "You don't need to protect me from everything—Spirits, I don't need you to cross the _ocean_ just to check up on me."

"I asked you to wait," Iroh repeated himself, refusing to let go. "Please." He walked around the small café table to her slowly, decreasing the length his arm reached out to her with every step.

Asami tried to back up, too flustered and distracted with her fury to want to listen. "Wait for what?" She questioned, vaguely uncomfortable with him ever encroaching on her personal space.

His open hand reached through her hair to meet the back of her neck, and he pulled her forehead to his lips gently.

Asami felt petrified, still as a stone under the pressure of his hand upon her neck. She could sense her eyes closing involuntarily, as if their shutting would force down the rush of overpowering chemicals inside her body as his forehead rotated down to touch her own.

"I thought I told you this already," he muttered, his nose pressed against hers. "I _missed_ you, too."

* * *

_-Hey! Sorry for the major time gap between chapter 9 and 10 (in both senses-I just needed a time skip for myself and for Iroh :P) but thanks for reading! As usual, I always love reviews. Please send them! I'll have chapter 11 up by next Wednesday at the latest. _

…


	11. Ch XI: Sheer Terror

-Chapter XI-

"_The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

As he drew around the corner of the street in Dragon Flats at a slow, cautious speed upon his Satocycle, Mako sensed something was off; as his foot played with one of the metal levers near the roaring motorcycle engine, he could hear a noise that didn't sound at all familiar.

The young police officer raised his helmet's shield to look down at the mechanism, but before he could inspect it closely, a quick rush of air flew by, followed by the whirring of a quick, expensive Satomobile speeding down the narrow street. With a heavy sigh, Mako flicked the shield of his helmet back into place, and revved throttle, trigging a roar from the bike's powerful engine.

A switch below his right thumb engaged his lights and siren, and Mako sped around civilians aimlessly sauntering in the gutters of the ghetto's streets. A fancy Satomobile was a rare sight in these parts—any vehicles that belonged to the residents were typically Cabbage Cars, often times much older than the convertible with the fancy chrome fender and sparkling black paint job before him.

From the rear leather seat of the convertible, one of the passengers sat up and turned around to face Mako; in a quick spark of his thoughts, Mako swerved to evade a mass of pavement that shot up with a motion of the man's arm, right where he would've driven behind them.

_Triads_, Mako thought silently as he sped into the vehicle's blind spot. The driver seemed to be in a Water Tribe get-up, and his other passenger looked of Fire Nation descent. Before a rush of flames flew from the hands of the front passenger, Mako braked suddenly, and accelerated a good distance behind the gangsters.

The clacking that came from the machine below Mako seemed to fade out, drowning in the noise of the vehicular chase.

"Dispatch, this is Officer Mako-" he began, drawing his small radio from his center council. "-We have a 10-80 in Dragon Flats, fleeing north on twenty seventh street. Three suspects are involved—possible members of the Triads…" Mako quickly shot his hand up, releasing a blaze of fire to incinerate an oncoming mass of stone, temporarily taking both of his hands off the handlebars. "…Black Satomobile, suspects are increasingly violent and are using bending to aid evasion. Back-up requested."

He hastily replaced the radio, closely watching the movements of the hostile gang members in the back of the Satomobile. Before he could calculate a plan to apprehend them on their own, a buzz came through the radio again. "Officer Mako, this is Dispatch, what the hell _are_ _you doing_?"

Instantly, as he swerved around another flying rock, Mako recognized the unforgiving voice of his boss. With a heavy sigh, he slowed enough to be out of the range of the gangsters as he pressed the radio's button once more. "Chief, with all due respect, what _are you _doing in dispatch?"

"My _job_!" Lin barked back through the static-filled channel. "You, my young, _reckless _friend, are traffic beat. Dispatch has already sent out a blimp; the _actual_ Gang Unit officers will handle it from here. For the Spirits' sake, stand down."

"But Chie—"

"That's an order, officer."

The whirring noise of displaced air drew in from overhead; just as Mako looked up, he saw a dozen metalbending officers repel down the distance between the blimp and the fleeing car. With a heavy grumble, the young officer slowed his Satocycle to a meager putt.

The gang's car was nearly crushed as it was tossed into the air by the officers' thick metal cables, who slowly scaled back up to the blimp with the suspects tied in the thick wire. His bike came to a complete stop just below, and Mako threw off his helmet to watch the blimp float away with what he saw as _his_ case.

"Well, this job really sucks," Mako muttered, turning off the Satocycle's engine.

"If you don't like it, you're more than welcome to retire early," Lin lectured Mako through the radio. "You should probably disengage your communications when you say things you don't want your boss to hear, Mako."

With an embarrassed gulp, Mako desperately grabbed for the device and fingered around the switch. "Sorry, ma'am! Won't happen again."

"It better not. Now, get back to work."

He shook his head with a light chuckle, and started up the bike's engine once more. Mako decided to head towards the downtown market, back where he was supposed to be on Fridays.

Accelerating recklessly towards the central bazaar, Mako suddenly heard a loud clank against the pavement; as he looked back on the street, he noticed a snapped gear of some sort lying aimlessly behind him, slowly disappearing into a crowd of pedestrians crossing into the street.

The Satocycle made a sudden, violent jerk, catapulting the bike off the street, head-first towards the thick glass window of a storefront. Mako attempted to break at the last moment, tossing the seat up and him through.

The impact triggered his Satocycle's radio; a curious dispatcher could be heard asking what she was hearing over the fuzzy signal.

…

Asami's shoulders shot up in shock; a loud, metallic sound echoed through the bazaar, between the buildings, and was answered with a parade of loud, violent screams. Quickly drawing her face away from Iroh's, Asami looked out into the street of the market; the inviting aromas of baked foods and autumn flowers was suddenly overpowered with the stench of burning steel and rubber.

"Th-there's smoke coming from that building," she shuddered, looking back to the prince. "We should go try to help."

The prince nodded in agreement, and the pair rushed over to the other storefront; a wild crowd had started to gather, everyone seemingly attempting to help. Black plumes of smoke bellowed out of the broken window; the end half of a Satocycle hung over the jagged edges of the shattered pane. A random older woman closer to the store screamed in horror, pointing at a heavy splash of blood along the base of one of the shop's counter.

"Someone call the police!" A man shouted towards the few samaritans that had braved the black fumes to help the crash victims.

"He _is_ the police," one of the shop employees argued with the man. "I saw his RCPD uniform blaze by as he nearly ran me over on the patio."

The spokes of the smoking rear tire turned slowly, as though the bike still wished to move forward; Asami peered over the shoulders with Iroh right behind her, gently grasping her delicate hand inside his own.

She snapped her head out into the street, following the skid marks of the tires with her eyes as best as she could with the large crowd still gathering around the accident. A few hundred feet beyond where the black skid marks ended, Asami saw a flash of a small chunk of metal. "It _can't_ be," she muttered aloud, piquing Iroh's curiosity.

_Oh, yes it could be, sweetheart. _

"Asami, is there something wrong?" Iroh turned to see what she was looking at—to his disadvantage, the gear had been lost to his line of sight in the crowd gathering behind them.

She shook her head fervently, glancing forward to the accident once more. "I don't think there's any way we can help, Iroh," she folded her arms, reclaiming her own hand. "In fact, we should probably get out of the way. The emergency responders probably won't be able to get to him."

"We should try to help," Iroh frowned, pushing forward in the crowd. "They may be a total stranger, but you should always treat any crisis as though you're the only family someone suffering has. What if we know him? If we don't, we should treat him like we do."

"But we most likely _don't_ know them, Iroh," Asami narrowed her eyes as she tugged on his sleeve, attempting to pull him away from the scene. "It's best we leave. Perhaps we can go see Bumi?"

Iroh reluctantly let her lead him away. "…Alright. If that's what you wish."

As she paced back over to the bakery, Asami recalled she still had her board meeting; she glanced up to the same clock in the market square, only to learn she was ten minutes late. With a disgruntled sigh, Asami looked over at Iroh, who still seemed focused on the scene behind them. The board meeting could be rescheduled. Asami quickly unchained her moped, bringing the engine to life in a split second. Unlatching the seat compartment, the young woman drew out her driving goggles and helmet, tossing the more safety-oriented piece to Iroh.

As she drew the goggles down over her eyes, Asami patted the back seat with a commanding smile. "Hop on."

The pair sped off down the street on the cream-colored moped, away from the smoke and the sound of incoming emergency sirens. Over the sound of the gentle artificial breeze, Asami turned back to Iroh. "Anyways—where do you think we'll find the Comm—Admiral?"

"Possibly in the harbor," Iroh mumbled from under the helmet. "Wait, Asami—didn't you have that… meeting?"

"I'll reschedule it," Asami grinned as she turned the handlebars towards the bay. "Hold on tight!" His hands grasped around her waist as the moped picked up speed, dancing around absent-minded pedestrians who had wandered far from the central market.

She could sense her hair was probably flying in his face, perhaps irritating him; yet he didn't perceive it the same way. The helmet seemed to protect his face from the possible whipping that could occur, but he almost appreciated it. The animation of the long locks of black hair reminded him of the soft brushstrokes of paint, flowing gently with the motion of nature.

In her unawareness of his sentiments, Asami reached back with one hand, and tucked the ends into the collar of her jacket.

Overhead, the sun began to break through the overcast sky, dissipating the clouds into separate chunks of cotton-like white vapor. The skies in Republic City were always breathtaking, even in inclement weather. As the thin tires of the moped danced over the flagstone pavers in the street, Asami could see the vast ships ahead of them; the boats had yet to dock, but were undoubtedly headed towards the piers.

The massive steel ships were embellished with ornate golden designs, bellows of steam pouring out massive exhaust towers near their bows. As Asami pulled to a stop in the harbor, Iroh lifted up the helmet that had been leant to him.

"That's definitely his ship," Iroh pointed at the boat at the head of the incoming fleet. "In fact, I think I see him."

At the stern of the ship was the distant figure of a man clad in white, his hands confidently intertwined behind his back.

…

He couldn't stop staring at the pristine white fabrics of the Admiral's new uniform; Iroh found it distracting, on top of the new addition to Bumi's set of badges. A yellow and green bar with a golden chain was added to the long square of honors, clinking with his movement as he stirred a white powder into his glass of strong liquor.

"How's your leg, Princey?" Bumi chuckled as he took a gentle sip of his beverage. "At least you're walkin."

Asami glanced around the room; the Admiral's cabin was dark, yet ornately decorated—it almost seemed as though it didn't _fit_ the former commander's outrageous personality. She expected a pin-up calendar, a large collection of cheap whiskey, perhaps a box of the cigarillos they shared a fondness for. It didn't seem like the kind of place her acquaintance would have.

"Far better, though I wish I could've stayed on the fleet," Iroh chortled, attempting to make friendly conversation despite suspecting latent hostility. "I would've healed just as fast on a boat as I would at home."

Bumi shook his head quietly, raising a hand with a nonchalant shrug. "Your mom insisted, General."

"Again, I would've been fine. I could've even come to your promotion ceremony," the prince frowned. "How did you come across that rank, again? My… _Rescue_?"

"I was the first one there," Bumi took a hearty gulp of his drink. "And I kept you alive."

Asami could sense the growing hostility in the room; the tension between the two men wasn't anything like the friendly interactions she remembered the two having. "I don't remember much from that night, Admiral—how exactly did you find us?"

"I was escorting a kind lady back to the bar I left you at, intending to see how you were fairing, too," Bumi explained, cautiously going through the story in his head. "To her disadvantage, we didn't make it back to the bar—I heard the crash, and found you two lying unconscious along the route. The General here nearly didn't make it."

"How so?" Iroh coughed, not believing that a broken leg and a few split ribs could've possibly killed him.

"Found your arm thrown around Ms. Sato's back, but a large chunk of metal from the Cabbage Truck—perhaps some engine part, but hell if I know- had landed on your torso." Bumi leaned back in his leather desk chair proudly. "I pulled that offaya-any longer, and it could've crushed your lungs."

Asami's eyebrows raised up in surprise, recalling the large bruise that had vanished in the shape of an arm. "Well—thank you for, uh, rescuing us… Admiral."

Iroh's brows furrowed in frustration, somewhat grateful but not entirely believing the Admiral's story. "How did you do that inebriated, Admiral Bumi?"

"Eh, I have a high tolerance," he returned the prince's question with a chuckle. "I didn't need to be sober to know a man who was practically my son was in dire trouble."

Asami attempted to change the subject, wanting to get away from the near tragedy which seemed all too familiar to the one she had caused just a short time ago. "Anyways, gentlemen—perhaps we should celebrate?" Asami grinned earnestly, a pique of excitement tingling down her spine with the thought of taking Iroh out for a night on the town. "Perhaps, for Iroh's sake, not in an Opium bar… But I'd love an evening in the city to toast to your promotion, Admiral."

Iroh's elbow shot out in Asami's direction, not open to the idea of binge drinking with a now imposing career rival and a dire infatuation. His jab was met with a strong shove of her hand before it could land.

In the distance, a ring triggered in a small part of her ear-Asami thought she could hear a powerful, tragic scream. Half a mile into the city, Korra shoved her way through the crowds of civilians and emergency responders to the small storefront Mako's Satocycle had drove through.

"Move-I can heal him!" She begged, shoving the paramedics out of her way. Korra grabbed his pale hand, which felt far colder than it ever should for a firebender's, but still had a faint pulse rushing through its veins. "Mako, I… What happened?"

"T-the bike," he muttered weakly as a faint blue glow came from her hands; there were too many wounds, she couldn't seem to pinpoint which was the most dangerous.

"The bike did what?" Korra persisted, finding a gushing, open laceration on his head. "Stay with me Mako, please—tell me what happened."

A paramedic's hand was placed on her shoulder, trying to move her out of the way of an incoming stretcher. "Miss, we need you to move—we have to take him to the hospital."

"Why didn't you do that _already_?" Korra barked, wiggling her shoulder forcefully out of the man's grip. "Spirits, if I didn't show up, he'd be dead!"

"He's going to be, miss—there's nothing we can do about the internal bleeding. He'll suffocate." The paramedic shook his head, unaware of how insensitive his words had been. "We need to clear the scene; these people have to get back to their shop."

"Th-the cl-clutch," Mako's voice became a whisper, barely strong enough to annunciate the words. Suddenly, his hand rose up, pointing out the window. "Broken. On the r-road."

Korra's eyes widened, welling with hot, frustrated tears. "No, Mako—you _can't_," her hands focused the healing water more intensely, glowing even brighter than before. "Stay with me, dammit!"

"I love you, K-Korra," the pupils of his golden eyes dilated widely, then were enveloped in a foggy glaze.

Korra choked loudly, her words a confused, unintelligible bulge releasing from her throat simultaneously. Anything she wanted to say was muffled by a wall of steaming mucus, trapped within her throat until it came out as nothing more than a hysteric sob.

His pulse had stopped.

…

* * *

_-I kinda decided to call this my "Mako" Chapter... Well, things should only get more interesting from here, right? Please please please review, I love to know what you think. Chapter 12 should be up sometime next week, by Wednesday at the latest!_


	12. Ch XII: Merely the Beginning

-Chapter XII-

"_You will always be loved, and you will always be in love with love. A grande passion is the privilege of people who have nothing to do. That is the one use of the idle classes of a country. Don't be afraid. There are exquisite things in store for you. This is merely the beginning."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

Within the grand, luminous halls of the Council building, Asami glanced up to observe the ornate architecture as she cautiously followed behind Iroh and the admiral. She had never seen the inside of the place before—until now, she had no reason to. Asami had earnestly followed the pair of men to the meeting of the Joint Chiefs out of curiosity; Bumi insisted, despite much protest from Iroh, that the matter wasn't anything that'd put the world in danger if the young woman sat in from the gallery.

"_Then why was the kept out of the papers_?" The young prince had argued with the older man in the Satomobile ride to the hall. "_Seems a bit outrageous, tormenting those reporters with all kinds of speculations_."

"_It's not a matter of national security_," Bumi had shrugged, his white gloved hands gently grasping the steering wheel as the vehicle braked through a turn. "_More so just a military matter—trifling, bureaucratic things. Of course you'd understand, princey-boy—just stuff the public wouldn't understand if the headlines did reach them_."

"_Perhaps_," Iroh had coughed. "_However, you still haven't told __**me**__ what the issue is_."

Bumi then chuckled. "_Since you insisted on joining the meeting, despite your written absence, I'm sure you'll find out there_."

Asami tried to find what she perceived was the appropriate seat for herself in the gallery as the two uniformed men went on towards the central gathering of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. She glanced around at the men who adorned the table, all in vastly different uniforms; it seemed like Iroh was the only one wearing red, which was the color Asami thought all officers wore.

Iroh seemed to take his seat next to the admiral reluctantly; the meeting converged nearly as soon as the young general sat down.

With a heavy voice, an older man in a black uniform at the center of the table stood; before his seat was a brass plaque, designating him as the chairman of the meeting. "If all could now rise," his voice bellowed, glancing around the room with narrowed eyes. "The eighty-ninth session of the Joint Chiefs of Staff is now called to order."

Seven men rose as Asami watched, with one or two more spectators present in the room. They seemed to be military, too—she was the only civilian present.

"Now, the Chief of Naval Operations has requested this meeting—it seems the Admiral has concerns about some going-ons among the officers within the branches of the United Forces," the man next to the chairman spoke; a far less imposing fellow, clad in a royal blue uniform. His plaque declared that he was the vice chairman. "The exact specifications of Admiral Bumi's proposal shall be explained once the Chief has the floor."

The man in blue nodded to the admiral, then the chairman, who announced the members could take their seats once more.

"Gentlemen—and our lady present in the gallery—I'd like to thank you today for your time." Bumi grinned widely, stepping out from the seat behind his chair to stand in front of the semicircle table as he spoke. "Now, the concerns I have are something that may hit close to home for a few of the present Chiefs, but the majority of you should be capable of hearing me out without prejudice."

The men all nodded in unison, with the exception of Iroh; his plaque indicated he was the Commandant of the Marine Corps, something Asami wasn't previously aware of. Through her curious jade eyes, the prince looked frustrated, perhaps confused.

"Now, my proposal mostly applies to the lower ranking officers, but I've grown concerned about the sense of _true unity_ within the United Forces," Bumi continued. "After all, we wouldn't be _called_ the _United Forces_ without that true unity." The admiral began to pace in front of the men as he spoke, stroking his chin as though his thoughts were gathered from that specific point. "A few of you are probably curious about where I'm going with this, I know—but bear with me."

"My concern lies within the monarchical privileges that have been granted to the symbolic leaders of the four nations—the Earth King, Fire Lady, Tribal Chiefs, and so on. Now, despite being the son of the most powerful man in my lifetime, I was granted no special privileges. I worked to get to where you see me today." Bumi's eyes quickly glanced to Iroh, then resumed to scan across his fellow members of the Staff. "This fact hardly seems fair, if I do say so myself—yet it is exactly that, _a fact_."

"It is a _fact _that the Earth King has promoted his son to Lieutenant General of the United Forces Army, it is a fact that the daughter of the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe was granted the position and pay of a high ranking administrative officer with a desk job without going through any kind of bootcamp or physical training." Bumi briefly cleared his throat. "The _fact_ even stands that the eldest of this group of privileged persons is seated amongst us, a young man who spent _two weeks_ as a private within the United Forces Marine Corps before his promotion to Second Lieutenant at the age of nineteen, then proceeded to receive an additional, unwarranted and undeserving promotion _at least_ once a year."

Iroh shot up from his seat, his teeth gritted firmly as his hands slammed against his desk. "H-how _dare_ you," the prince muttered as his neighbors urged his to retake his seat.

"Now, General Iroh the Second has been like a son to me all these years—I grew up with his mother, even. You could say the general and I are friends. The two of us have sailed around the world for years, and I am in no way suggesting our fellow member of this Joint Chiefs should lose his occupation," the admiral chuckled warmly, drastically lightening the mood in the room with his contagious laugh. "In fact, our resident prince is the only one who at least attempted to follow protocol in his mother's _manipulation_ of our system."

"My primary objective—and by extension, my proposal—is that any _royal_ officer of the United Forces that has been found in blatant contempt of the order of officer promotion has a choice between utter demotion to the lowest rank within their branch of the Forces or dishonorable discharge. Those who are currently in service and cannot be proven beyond reasonable doubt to have manipulated loopholes can retain their titles, but will be subjected to extensive investigation in the process of proving their innocence." Bumi grinned with a peculiar sinister kindness to Iroh. "After all, this is a _Republic_, not a Monarchy."

…

Lin bent down slowly, tracing the tire tracks along the pavement that curved towards the stone sidewalk. Behind her at a small patio table was Korra, her head buried deep in her arms.

As the police chief continued to investigate the cause of the accident, she turned back to the young avatar, noticing the girl's sorrow. "Why didn't you go to the hospital?" Lin asked, swiftly returning her focus to the deep, dark tire marks.

"I'm not next of kin," Korra muttered through her flesh. "They wouldn't let me ride with them, and there's honestly no point. I have no clue where Bolin is, either."

"That's odd," Lin paused, noticing a sparkle of metal some distance away in the street. "We informed Bolin first. I assumed—well, knowing how attached he was to Mako—that he'd make it here first."

The chief slowly walked over to the small hunk of parts, picking it up cautiously as she inspected it. The woman wasn't highly familiarized with machine parts, but she could tell it came from somewhere that'd cause a Satocycle to crash.

Just as swiftly as Lin could wave over a collision detective, Korra's head shot up from the table, as though she intrinsically _knew_ what Lin had found had an important meaning. The young avatar rushed over to her older friend, peering over her shoulder to see what the police chief had found.

"It appears to be part of a Satocycle slip clutch," the vehicle savvy detective remarked. "That gear in itself isn't enough to cause a crash, but it'd definitely have a risk of making the bike hard to handle." Taking the piece of metal from Beifong, the man looked closer at the fracture between the two pieces. "You see the difference between the sides? One part of the cut in the metal looks like the result of wear and tear… But this part?" he ran his fingers along the smooth, even grooves of where Asami's wrench had struck the gear. "That's unnatural. The machine didn't do that by itself."

"Get to the _point_, man," Lin barked, noticing Korra was now behind her out of the corner of her eye. "Was this an accident or what?"

"I still need to go over the evidence from the bike itself, but this is definitely a major cause of the crash," the detective remarked. "It's not the only factor—had the officer handled his bike correctly upon the catastrophic malfunction, he probably would've survived. I'd say the crash is two parts this breakdown, one part the officer's inexperience. I'll take a few hours to look over the Satocycle and file a police report once I return to the station."

Korra's heart sank deep into her gut; something about the finding didn't seem quite right. As the detective walked away, Korra grabbed Lin by her shoulder. "Chief, I… I think I know something that might help—but it'd mean that someone… _did_ something to cause this."

"Korra," Lin sighed with a furrow of her brow. "I understand completely how traumatizing this can all be, witnessing the death of a loved one is a very serious matter." The chief shook her head. "I realize that you may feel you know something, but this does seem to be nothing more than a terribly tragic accident. You've been very strong—but consider where your level of judgment is at the present moment."

The young avatar raised her hand in protest, biting her lower lip in frustration. "Now, _wait_—you haven't even heard me out yet."

"I'm in no way obligated to, Korra," Beifong grumbled, distressed with Korra's persistent stubbornness. "The emergency responders informed me that you arrived after the accident, which makes _perfect sense_, considering I personally informed you of the event. I hardly believe you could've witnessed foul play."

"I _didn't_!" Korra shouted as angry, hot tears condescended around the corners of her eyes. "Spirits, Lin—will you just listen to me?"

The older woman fell silent, not entirely consenting to hear the young avatar out. "You have… _four_ seconds."

"Remember how you told Mako he had to pay for his own repairs the last time?" Korra began, trying to extend the chief's interest.

"Of course I do. This only reinforces my notion that his reckless driving played a major part in this accident."

"Well—he did get it fixed," she argued. "And not just by any old mechanic; we took it to the head of the company that _made_ these bikes—Asami Sato. I know Asami; she wouldn't screw up a repair."

"What exactly are you _suggesting_, Korra?" Lin shook her head belligerently. "I certainly hope you're not trying to implicate a friend of yours in a death that can only truly be blamed on the operator of said machine."

"But you _don't know_ that, Lin! What if the part Asami installed was faulty? I mean, she told me herself that the transmission was worn down…" Korra frowned. "She did fight with Mako that day, too…"

Lin furrowed her brow as she glanced to the nearest market clock. "Your four seconds are long up, Korra—if Asami did have anything to do with this, I'm sure we'd find _actual _evidence." The police chief began to walk away. "That's what we'd need, anyways—real evidence, not the delirious notions and theories of someone personally involved. Speaking of involved… Perhaps you should go check up on that younger brother of his, after all—someone should make sure he's okay."

With a heavy sigh, Korra watched as Lin disappeared into a blimp high above in the early twilight sky. As the blimp disappeared out of view, the sun finished setting completely, leaving the young avatar entirely alone in the market. The shops closed and the customers vacated the bazaar, heading home to their families. Her light blue eyes clenched together tightly, rejecting the impending darkness.

"I wish someone could make sure I'm okay, too," Korra muttered to herself as she clenched the roots of her hair painfully in her hands, and collapsed to her knees into the gutter of the dingy market street. "What the hell am I _thinking_? Asami would never do something like that."

Korra paused again, her lower lip trembling uncontrollably. "Never like this."

…

The ambience of the fashionable bar in the lower west side of Republic city was nearly comforting to Iroh in his amassing anxiety; the kind, pleasant laughter floated through the room in a contagious mist, filling his mind with a sense of ease.

At the center of one of the laughter sources, Bumi's bright white uniform caught the attention of nearly every eye in the room, then drew the passersby in with his earnest, enjoyable laughter. Asami scooted into the bar stool next to the General, grasping onto his arm gently as he tossed around another wide glass of ale aimlessly upon the bar counter.

"It's dreadfully boring to just sit here," Asami displayed a slightly intoxicated grin; they had only been at the bar for an hour or so, yet she had already ingested three or four strong drinks. "Why don't you come and have a dance or two with me?"

Reluctantly, he allowed her hand to draw him away from his seat, then past the clusters of joyful strangers surrounding the arrogant admiral.

"I've never seen a white uniform before!" A young lady giggled, teasing the lapels of Bumi's jacket.

"You must be _very_ important," another interjected.

Iroh grumbled at the conversations he overheard, but was jerked forward into an open area, Asami's dark, crimson red dress swirling around at her feet as she turned into an upbeat, jazzy dance with her kidnapped partner.

As the fingers of her left hand intertwined with his right, Iroh's own left instinctively headed towards the small of her back. Before it could reach its destination, Asami's other hand grasped it.

"This isn't a waltz, General," Asami's gentle laugh rang through the room as she swung with him to the center of the floor, spinning in intricate, haphazard circles.

"I think you've had quite a bit to drink, Ms. Sato," Iroh chuckled in return. "I don't think you'd be able to waltz if you wanted to."

"Perhaps," Asami smiled as her feet began to step into a hop, jutting back as though her heels aimed to injure another dancer somewhere behind her. "Perhaps I simply know how to have a better time."

The general chortled in protest, slowly allowing the music to dictate his motions and movements. With her growing amusement plastered across her visage, Iroh couldn't help but find himself smiling even more; it felt silly, but it was undeniably _fun_. He had started to forget about the conflicting events of the day, allowing them to fade away in the present moment. The joy of finding her again and anger from Bumi's words blended into one, slowly dissipating in his memory. The recollections all but vanished from his mind until one of Asami's hands reached up around his neck cautiously while the jazzy overlude faded out to a brief silence.

A muted whisper rang in his ear just as a slower swing prelude began again. "How _much _did you miss me?"

"W-what?" Iroh blinked between his stammers, thoroughly flustered. "Oh! W-well, I…"

Before he could respond, he was interrupted with a light chuckle from Asami. "I'm a little tired, now—perhaps we should reclaim our seats at the bar?"

The prince nodded silently, following the young woman back across the bar's open floor. Bumi seemed even more inebriated on their return; he was leaning on his fans now, and his drink often missed his mouth on its trip towards his jaw.

"The Admiral's car was our method of transportation, Asami—and remember, I still can't drive," Iroh remarked as he sat at the bar once more, and raised his hand to order another ale. "I wouldn't want to risk our lives again, especially now that I've had a drink or two."

"—Of beer," Asami interrupted with a tease. "I'll probably be okay to drive us. I didn't have any… mysterious substances this time. Besides, I'm not feeling too rough."

"If you say so," Iroh shook his head, reaching over across the bar towards Asami's hand—before he could get a hold of it, a white suit stumbled forward between the two.

"You two kiddos havin' a grand old time, right?" Bumi burst out, leaning on the wooden bar in the space between them. "I know I sure am! Great way to celebrate this promotion, eh, princey-boy?"

Iroh grumbled and pulled his tall glass to his lips to avoid conversation with the Admiral, which was acknowledged with a strong burp from the older man.

"We sure are," Asami smiled and placed an arm around Bumi kindly. "I'm sure Iroh's just having a, well… bad day because of what you said about him earlier."

"O-oh!" The admiral snapped his fingers instantly, turning again to the prince as he placed a heavy gloved hand on Iroh's shoulder. "Iroh-buddy, my main man—don't take none'a the stuff I said today personally. It weren't about you, really."

"Hardly," Iroh chuckled sarcastically; as he looked up from the golden beverage, he noticed the admiral had fallen completely unconscious, sprawled over the edge of the bar. "—Spirits, what are we going to do with him?"

Asami blinked strongly, slightly bewildered herself. "Oh, dear. Well—do you have somewhere to go? I can drop you two off at the harbor."

"The ship with my designated cabin isn't there," Iroh shook his head. "Bumi must've gotten a new boat and left mine at the command port."

Her eyes widened with an absence of disappointment, then the spark of an idea. "Well, General—I have quite a few spare bedchambers back at the mansion, if you need a place to stay. If it's inconvenient to take Bumi aboard his ship, I'm sure he could find a place to sleep overnight, too."

With a heave, Iroh pulled Bumi up, and headed out the door of the bar just behind Asami. Her gentle hand reached back swiftly to pull the Satomobile keys out of the drunken Admiral's pocket.

"You sure you're okay to drive?" Iroh asked as he struggled to toss Bumi into the back seat. "It's really late, after all—" the prince looked up to a clock on a nearby bank. "—It's nearly three in the morning, now."

"I'd do better than either of you," Asami smiled and ignited the engine. Within moments, the trio was speeding off to the northeast in the Admiral's Satomobile, the older man fast asleep as he sprawled out across the back.

The dark hills of the suburbs invited Asami once more like an old friend; just hours before, she had returned to her home to deliberate over which dress to wear out as the sun had set behind the distant skyscrapers. Now, she returned in the darkest time of the night; the hours just before the dawn.

Chang drew open the wide doors in his nightcap, thoroughly displeased to see guests arriving so late. "Ms. Sato, I _implore_ you—hire someone new. Preferably someone who never requires sleep."

His employer forced a smile. "Not today, Mr. Chang; right now, I need you to help the General get Admiral Bumi to a bed."

"_That_ heavy thing?" The butler gestured to the older man. "How did you even get him up the steps of the porch?"

"It was definitely a struggle," Iroh grinned through his gritted teeth. "But I've got him this far, haven't I?"

Chang shook his head in protest. "All the bedchambers are on the upper floors—there's no way we're getting him up the grand staircase. I'd suggest the parlor; he probably won't even remember how he _arrived_ there."

Asami turned back to the men as she headed for the banister. "Well—I'll be off to bed, then; Chang, once you've finished assisting the Admiral, can you show General Iroh to an appropriate room?"

"No," the butler argued from beneath Bumi's other arm. "Some of us have to return to _bed_. You're entirely capable of finding the young man a place to sleep." Chang's comment was met with a sudden encumbrance of the admiral's full weight; before he could protest, Asami had gestured for Iroh to leave the unconscious man with the butler, and follow her.

"I'm sure you can handle him yourself if you don't wish to help, Mr. Chang," Asami grinned. "Thank you for your enduring patience!" Her hand reached out and grasped Iroh's within her own, leading him briskly up the grand stairs.

Within minutes, the deep snores of the sleeping admiral could be heard throughout the halls; Asami giggled quietly at the echoes of unconscious inhalations while she continued to show Iroh his choices of rooms.

"This is the red room," Asami opened a wide door, showing the dark contents to her guest. "The next one is the green room—and after that is my own."

"Can I see that one before the green room?" The prince teased; though his guide decided to take his inquiry seriously.

"Sure," she smiled and dashed down the hall, dragging him along behind her. The pair of doors were thrown open briskly, and Asami walked in; though she knew he had seen the room before, she wanted to show him that his flowers were still blooming.

"Remember these?" She walked over to the vanity, gently touching one of the white, aromatic petals. "I water them every day—not a single bloom has begun to wilt."

The prince gasped in astonishment. "I was told they had fallen out of season at this point—it's amazing that they're still in bloom." He shook his head. "You must be taking very good care of them."

"I've been trying, at the very least." Asami turned and paced into Iroh's personal space. "I'd hate to see them die, especially now that they've lasted so long."

Instead of backing away, Iroh felt compelled to touch Asami's hair; the angle of the light from the night sky pouring in through the window silhouetted the dark locks so perfectly, they seemed unnaturally surreal. Yet before he could do so, Asami's arms reached up around his neck, and her lips met his in a deep, saturated kiss.

The same hand that had desired so badly to touch her hair ran through it quickly, dancing down her shoulder to the thin, shimmering red strap of her dress.

…

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_-Thank you so much for reading! I always really love to hear what you think and have to say, so reviews are definitely wanted and appreciated. :) I update a new chapter once a week, by Wednesday at the latest. So, please review, follow, favorite, whatever you like! My readers are definitely what keeps me going._


	13. Ch XIII: Courage to Commit

-Chapter XIII-

_"You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

As her silk dress slid to the floor, Asami stepped backwards towards her vanity in the darkness, Iroh closely following her. Suddenly, as his foot grazed the slick red fabric, it slid out from under him, tossing him forward.

Asami gasped as Iroh's forehead collided with the edge of the vanity; his arms flailed outward, knocking the glass vase of flowers to the floor. With a confused grunt, the young prince passed out cold.

Her hands momentarily covered her mouth in shock, and Asami leant down to feel Iroh's neck for his pulse. "Spirits," she sighed with a roll of her eyes. "At least he's not dead."

_True, sweetheart, you've been doing that quite often, lately—killing men indirectly._

"Hush," she hissed to the parasite, glancing at the broken glass drenched in a pool of water, and the flowers that were strewn across the floor. With a heave, she carefully pulled Iroh away from the hazards, using all of her strength to drag the young general into her bed to rest.

It was too late to wake Chang; he'd probably chastise her for the situation, anyways. Her hand raised to her forehead as Asami thought about what she'd do; a broom and dustpan were easy to find, but the water was a different predicament.

She rushed down the grand stairs in a robe and into a coat closet in the foyer, only to notice that something seemed different; the snores of the admiral no longer echoed through the halls. _Perhaps he's awake_, Asami pondered quietly as she opened the closet to fetch the broom and dustpan. The young woman never had a knack for cleaning; she supposed it'd be just as easy to sweep the water up with the broken glass.

Her slippers were easy to slide on to protect herself from any strays, but the water contradicted her theory that the two dangerous messes could be gathered together. With the stranded flowers waiting on the vanity, Asami argued with the broom as the bristles became more saturated. She dumped as much of the glass as she could gather in a nearby bin, then fetched a towel from the bathroom.

Kneeling down on the floor, Asami grumbled and tried to wipe up the rest of the water. A sharp sting kicked in around her knee; with a whimper, Asami sat up to realize she had landed right on a shard of the glass. The pain was somehow chilled, as though it stung more from the imaginary temperature than the incision. Her teeth gritted together as her fingers grasped the smooth, sharp surface, and pulled—releasing a rush of blood from the wound.

"Stupid, stupid—" Asami lectured herself through a whisper, trying to not wake the sleeping prince. "What the hell was I thinking?"

The towel was thrown to the ground, and Asami tried to sweep up the remaining shards. A single red line traced down her leg to her ankle to remind her of the damage the vase shards had caused; the young woman grasped the bouquet of Gardenias once more, and headed out the room to fetch a new vase.

Her arrival at the stairs was greeted with another odd sound; a cough. _He must be awake_, Asami pondered as she entered the kitchen and found a new ceramic vase, decorated with ornate, golden designs.

The light in the kitchen illuminated the drying streak of blood along her leg. Asami pulled herself up onto to the counter nearest the sink, and inspected the damage; she felt silly for not expecting it, but the cut had already healed. All that remained was the drying blood.

"How'd ya do that, kiddo?"

Asami looked up from the hand towel she was running under the sink to see the Admiral entering the kitchen. With a light chuckle, she began to wash away the mark. "Broken glass," the blood around her knee came up easily with the warm, wet towel, revealing nothing but bare, unharmed skin. "It's much better, however."

Bumi lowered a cigar he had brought along, curious about the unusual wound. "When did that happen?" He stepped closer, not sure if his eyes were deceiving him. "That blood looked mighty fresh."

Unconscious of his awareness of the unusual disappearing wound, Asami answered truthfully. "A few minutes ago. Why do you ask?"

"Well," the admiral raised a concerned eyebrow. "To be frank, it'd seem it's already _gone_. What kind of devil's deal did you make with a Spirit? And why over a little cut?"

Asami glanced up, abruptly becoming aware of what the admiral was realizing. "O-oh, I…" she stammered. "Well, I've always had a fabulous immune system, and… The cut wasn't too deep. It was really more of a scratch."

"A scratch? For that amount of blood?" Bumi shook his head, knowing that she wasn't being honest. "I doubt it. Where'd the broken glass come from, anyways?"

"The vase broke," Asami pointed to the bouquet across the sink from her. "I didn't want to leave all those dangerous shards on my floor."

"How'd it break?"

"…I knocked it over," she shrugged after a pregnant pause.

"What, and the princey-boy didn't come running to the rescue at the sound of a shattering vase?" Bumi chuckled, then placed the smoldering cigar upon his lips. "I didn't know you were so clumsy, either. Sounds more like something Iroh would've done, if you were to ask me." The admiral briskly hoisted himself up to sit on the kitchen island, then looked at the young woman with a knowing grin. "_Where_ is he, anyways?"

Asami leaned back, resting her head upon a cabinet, slowly realizing it'd be better to be caught in the more harmless lie between Iroh's location and the nature of her missing cut. "My… room. He's somewhat… unconscious."

Bumi grew silent, stagnating the air in Asami's suspense. A genuine grin slowly drew across his face, followed abruptly by an outburst of hearty, contagious laughter. Asami joined in after the shock of his reaction, not entirely sure what she was laughing about.

She was still lying to him; the man who had slowly grown into almost a mentor for her, someone Asami _almost_ wished could replace her incarcerated father.

"Poor Iroh," Bumi's laughter subsided into a gentle chuckle as he wiped the corner of his eye. "That boy's never had any game. So—what exactly are you two _defined_ as at the moment?"

"I'm not really sure," Asami shook her head. "We haven't quite… _discussed_ that topic."

"Well, I'm surprised that wasn't one of the first things he brought up," Bumi shook his head with a smile. "The last time he was truly in love with a girl, he asked her to marry him. Given, that's when he was… eh, twelve, I think? It was a long time ago, regardless."

"Oh, really?" Asami grinned, curious about a story from Iroh's childhood. "How'd that go?"

"Badly," Bumi burst out, on the verge of laughter. "She was in her twenties—one of the servants in the palace." He calmed himself by bringing the slow-burning cigar up again, letting out a relaxed exhale of the thick smoke.

"Hey, you didn't find those in my parlor, did you?" Asami teased. "I ran out of those ones you found the last time you were in there, and still haven't got around to finding more."

"Nah, these are my own personal ones." The admiral took a tin out of his jacket, handing her a thick, brown wrap of the expensive tobacco with a raise of his brow. "You took up smoking?"

"I suppose you could say so," Asami shrugged, igniting the end of the cigar with a lighter the older man passed to her. "I think they helped my father with his stress—they seem to help me, too."

"What do you have to be stressed about?" Bumi inquired with a shrug. "You've got the three things in the world everyone else wants—youth, beauty, and independence. You're practically the envy of the Republic."

"Well—" Asami began, sensing a feeling of confidence in the admiral that hadn't existed before. "-Bumi, can I trust you with a secret? It's… it's a really strange thing, and I'm afraid you wouldn't understand."

"I'll try my best to get the gist of it," Bumi's expression grew more somber. "Go ahead. I won't tell."

"You saw the lack of a cut on my knee earlier, right?" She started, trying to find the right way to explain her predicament. "Well, I know this sounds outrageous—but that had something to do with Iroh's _painting_."

"…How, exactly?" Bumi grunted, beginning to wonder if Asami had lost her mind. "You're right—that is _really_ strange."

"I'm not really sure how it works, either," Asami frowned. "I just know that any injury I receive… well, it goes to the painting while I am conscious."

"Sounds pretty… odd." The admiral frowned. "Anything else it seems to do?"

"I haven't looked at it in quite some time now—but I believe it's still changing."

…

Beneath the layers of sod, under cement foundation, deep down in what remained of Hiroshi Sato's workshop, a single low rumble could be heard.

Yet no one was present in the dark, musty hallways and open spaces of the subterranean fortress, no _living_ soul, at the very least. The rumbles, when unmuffled by the barriers of cement walls, could be distinguished as an animal-like noise.

Mr. Chang had been on his way back to the small servant's quarters across the lawn after assisting the drunken admiral to bed, and seemed to think he heard a noise as he crossed the vast, dark lawn.

The moon wasn't out tonight; the only lights came from the distant urban metropolis and the few stars that struggled to shine despite the city's overbearing presence. The butler jumped at the odd noise—something that sounded like the roar of an angry, carnivorous beast.

"Ms. Sato doesn't pay me enough to investigate this nonsense," Chang shook his head, picking up his pace towards the small home. "Not at all—nope, not worth my time."

The painting screamed in fury from the depths of the workshop as the door to the butler's small home was swiftly drawn shut, Chang safely inside; it _only_ wished to be found again.

Underneath the musty tarp its owner had cast upon it, the decaying depiction of its master was alone once more.

…

Iroh woke to the sunlight trickling trough the satin white curtains, brightening the entire room. At first, he couldn't remember how he had arrived where he was, then saw the ornate ceramic vase containing the white gardenias he had purchased for Asami some time ago.

His feet slid around to the side of the bed, finding his balance on the smooth, cherry hardwood floors. In the distant vanity mirror, Iroh noticed a purple welt resting upon his forehead, and paced closer to investigate.

"That's certainly a bad—" the young prince suddenly shouted in pain; a single shard of the glass vase had remained, wedged between the floorboards. His bare foot had landed directly upon the trap.

Hopping in pain, Iroh threw himself back onto the vast soft bed to inspect his wound. A small prick of blood escaped the ball of his right foot, stinging sharply despite the wound's small size.

The prince limped out to the hallway, trying to avoid touching the bleeding wound to the hardwood floors. As he reached the stairs, Iroh looked up to notice something he hadn't seen the night before; his painting was _gone_.

Confused and somewhat perturbed, Iroh paced down the stairs as quickly as he could, looking around for his companions. "Bumi? Asami? Where are you two?"

A pair of glasses peeked out from the kitchen in response. "They're in here, sir—and they're drinking all of the coffee," Mr. Chang grimaced. "I assume you've come downstairs for breakfast?"

Despite a low rumble in his stomach, the pain in his foot dominated his focus. "I'm afraid I need medical attention, sir—but breakfast would be nice, too."

"What on earth have you done to yourself to require _medical_ attention?" The butler displayed a perturbed roll of his eyes.

"I'm afraid I stepped on a piece of glass," Iroh forced a smile, lifting up his foot to show a small bead of blood escaping from the puncture. "I just need some bandages—I can do it myself, honestly."

"Oh dear Spirits, _please_ don't tell me you've trailed blood on our floors."

"I've tried not to," the prince huffed. "About that gauze—"

"_Yes_, yes, of course," the butler dismissed the thought with a wave. "Check the ladies' powder room. There should be a first aid kit in one of the cabinets under the sink. Now, before you run off to play doctor with yourself, what would you like for breakfast?"

"Whatever you've already started making should be fine," Iroh shrugged, limping away towards what he thought was the powder room. "Or whatever you feel like making, if there's nothing left from what you've made for the others."

"Just coffee, then? The others decided to wait for you," the butler stated as he began to return to the kitchen. "And sir—the powder room is to the _east_ hall, not the west."

The prince turned around, and began to hop down past the kitchen door.

Inside, he could hear the chuckles of the admiral and Asami, his overbearing anxiety insisting they were laughing about _him_.

A single drop of his blood landed on the hardwood floor, sinking into the cracks between the floorboards.

…

* * *

_-Hey! Thank you for reading! Sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter than usual-it's more of a development stage towards the major events in next one, to be honest. Anyways, I always love reviews-please leave them! Follows and favorites are also always appreciated. It's nice to know that my story is interesting enough for you to want to keep reading, haha. _

_I update every Wednesday, so keep an eye open next week! And thanks again for reading! _


	14. Ch XIV: One's Mistakes

-Chapter XIV-

_"Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

Korra's hand hit heavily against the door of Bolin's room back on the island; a sharp knock seemed to only be met with complete silence from the chambers of her close friend.

"Bolin?" She shouted through the locked paper screen. "I know you're in there—I, I just want to talk."

She knew the news had hit him hardest of all; Bolin had learned of the crisis first, yet hadn't come to see his dying brother in the same way Korra had. Pressing her face against the paper, she swore she could see him moving around in the room—he still refused to respond.

With a heavy sigh, Korra walked on down the hall, her hands stuffed into the fur sash she wore around her waist. "It just doesn't make sense," she muttered, continuing on away from her friend's room. "None of it does."

"What doesn't, Korra?" a muffled voice came from behind her; Bolin's head poked out from the door he had locked, speaking through a heavy blanket. "I… I just—"

Before he could finish his thought, Korra ran back and grasped him by the shoulders. "Bolin, I… I think that accident wasn't Mako's fault."

His gentle green eyes began to well up with tears from remembering why he had hidden himself in his room, not quite the response Korra had expected. Slowly, he backed into the room once more, and shut the screen in the young Avatar's face before she could follow.

"Bolin! I…wait—"

"What's _wrong _with you, Korra?" A chocked bark came from behind the paper screen. "He's… He's _all_ I had, and he's been gone for less than three days… And you want to talk to me about _conspiracies_?"

"I know that, Bolin," Korra pleaded. "That's part of why I want you to help me find out what really happened." She paused momentarily, a thick silence invading the air. "He's… He's all _I_ had too."

The screen opened again, this time revealing a crimson flushed face; Korra couldn't tell if he was upset or furious.

"That's _not_ true," he muttered somberly. "You have so much more, Korra. You've always had more… Parents, mentors, relatives. Mako wasn't _all_ for you." Bolin's eyes lowered to the floor. "But he was for me, and he was taken from me. No _justice_, no _revenge_, no theory of yours can change that. No blame or target to point your finger at will bring him back." He began to shut the door again. "Don't you dare try to tell me we're the same in this—because we're _not_, Korra. We're just not."

Korra grew quiet, not used to such serious behavior from Bolin. As the screen shut slowly with the click of a latch on the other side, a heavy, hot sigh released from her lungs with the rush of terror reminding herself that Mako was still gone. Bolin seemed to be handling it better; instead of running around and asking why, he had accepted it, embraced his brother's absence, even.

Yet she couldn't. She wanted an answer, wanted a reason why. Collapsing onto the floor in a heap, her fists dug into the bamboo floorboards desperately, trying to avoid the impending flood of sorrow.

"I _need_ to know why," she muttered into her arms, wondering if the Spirits were punishing her for something she couldn't remember doing. "I just need to know. I'm sorry Bolin, but I have to find out what really happened."

Rising to her feet once more, Korra fled from the island; she wanted to see that strange piece of evidence the Chief had found.

…

His foot patiently bandaged, Iroh began to return to the kitchen to have a late breakfast with his companions. The gauze was thick enough to provide a decent barrier for the pain of the pressure of his foot upon the floor, yet he still felt the need to walk with a limp.

As the prince took his time approaching the kitchen door, he looked up into the foyer again; the painting had indeed vanished, leaving only a small imprint of dust around the wall it had once resided upon.

It had been there once, but now had moved—Iroh couldn't help but wonder where. He hadn't seen it in her bedroom, and the complementary portrait of Asami's mother still hung at the highest point above the landing.

"Peculiar," he remarked aloud, just as he felt a hand upon his back. Startled, Iroh jumped slightly, only to be met with a kiss on the cheek.

"What's peculiar?" Asami smiled brightly. "Besides, of course, you skipping breakfast. The Admiral and I have been waiting."

Iroh shook his head fervently, realizing that Asami must've had the painting relocated for a reason. "Nothing, really—" he placed his hand on her shoulder. "I was…. I was just curious about where you moved the portrait I painted for you."

"Oh." Asami's eyes widened. "Well, I was afraid with the way the light enters the foyer from the skylight and all—well, that if it _remained_ there, the colors would fade quickly," she forced the lie from her lips. "It's much safer where I've moved it to, trust me. Now—why don't you go to the kitchen? Bumi and Mr. Chang are waiting; I think Chang decided on crepes for the morning."

Her hand grasped onto his own, and led him to the kitchen firmly. With a forced smile, she presented the door to the kitchen to him, as though the wood were an artistic masterpiece.

"What about you?" He questioned as he began to enter the kitchen. "What's… what are you having?"

"I'll have a few crepes too—I just need to settle a business manner quickly, then I'll be back."

"Okay, Asami," Iroh glanced at her suspiciously, then agreed to carry on. "If you say so."

As his glance disappeared behind the swinging door, Asami began to hyperventilate, the air in her chest not moving in quickly enough.

_He knows, Sweetheart. _

"He knows something's _wrong_," Asami argued with the parasite as she ran to her makeshift office inside the parlor. "He doesn't know what it is, but he knows the excuse I gave him was silly, outrageous even. The sunlight doesn't come into the foyer from the north."

_That was rather… stupid. He's too clever for his own good._

Bursting into the office, Asami began to dig through stacks of papers, looking for something she knew could get her away from the potential disaster without hurting the young prince she was slowly falling deeply in love with. "What do you want me to _do _about it?" Asami barked to the presence, finding an ancient ticket for a train to Ba Sing Se her father had purchased but never used. "I don't want to kill him. I… I _can't _kill him."

_Of course you could. _

"No, I can't." Asami found the ticket's receipt; a replacement trip was allowed as long as the ticket hadn't been validated. Her heart began to throw itself against her ribs violently, considering the option that lay before her. "But I… I don't have to answer any questions if I leave."

_Don't be foolish, sweetheart. You have to stay with us, make sure no one finds __**us**__. _

"Us, _us_… You mean yourself and the painting?" Asami cackled, beginning to realize the intrinsic relationship between the two cursed entities with the train ticket grasped between her fingers. "If I leave… do I leave _you_? You're just… You're nothing more than a parasite within my mind, I don't think anyone else would be able to see you, _sweetheart_."

_I… I'm not sure what would happen. You simply cannot go._

"I think I can," Asami snarled, rushing out of her office and upstairs to her room. As she began to throw dresses into a large suitcase, Asami considered silently; _if I'm running, I should pack lightly_. She quickly bolted over to the closet, and opted for a large handbag instead. A dress, a change of underwear, her toothbrush and comb, and a small bottle of perfume quickly landed inside the purse, which was then slung over her shoulder. "Oh, my dearest, parasitic friend, I think I can do whatever I please."

_If you leave us, you're leaving __**him**__._

Asami paused at the doorway, a rush of anxiety choking at her throat. "If I stay, I will hurt him," she shook her head. "It's inevitable; something I do will kill Iroh. If I love him, I have to go."

_You don't love him, sweetheart._

As she reached the pinnacle of the stairs, Asami questioned which route would provide the lowest risk; she rushed down quickly and ran through one of the quieter back doors. "Yes, I _do_ love him," Asami whispered to the dark presence, dashing down the pale driveway on foot—the roar of her moped would've attracted attention. "You may be_ in_ my mind, but you have no comprehension of how that mind of mine works."

The presence grew silent with her muttered remark, hovering over her shoulders as Asami walked briskly to the nearest train station. As she reached the edge of her neighborhood, Asami ducked down behind the bushes; a flash of white fur dodged past the corner of her eye.

From behind the cover, Asami's suspicion was confirmed; Korra was heading down her street, most likely to her home. The young Avatar had no other reason to be in the area.

_They'll realize I'm gone as soon as she arrives,_ Asami thought in a panic. Hastily, Asami rose to her feet once more, and began to run as fast as she could towards the station two miles away.

…

Bumi sipped gently on the hot coffee as Iroh entered the room, the crossword of the Republic City Times under his eyes. The Admiral wasn't very good at solving the actual clues; instead, the man preferred to fill in the blank spaces creatively, and see if he could solve it with his own choice of words.

"Morning Princey," Bumi placed his mug back on the kitchen counter, opting to fill in a seven letter word blank with the letters _b-e-v-o-m-i-t_. "How'd you sleep? Judgin by that nice shiner on your head, I'd say pretty well."

"I suppose you could say so," Iroh chuckled. "My skull landed, rather unfortunately, on the edge of a piece of Ms. Sato's furniture."

"She told me her side of the story already," the Admiral grinned kindly; the smell of crepes began to fill the room as the butler cooked at the stove behind them. "What's your perspective?"

Iroh's head turned sharply at what he thought sounded like the click of a door, then returned his glance to Bumi. "W-what?"

"What happened last night, according to you?" Bumi took another sip of his coffee, then patted the seat next to him, inviting the prince to take a seat.

"Well, I… I don't remember much, but I believe Asami was showing me her bedroom," Iroh twirled his thumbs around each other. "Next thing I remember, I woke up with this bruise upon my forehead, then stepped on a shard of glass on the floor."

"That's boring," the Admiral chuckled. "And I'm sure it's not _all _you remember. Either you've gotta jog that brain loose… or you already have, and you just don't want to tell." Bumi took his compact fountain pen, and began to fill in a five letter blank that branched off the seven letter word: _e-j-e-c-t_.

"What's the clue on that one?" Iroh questioned, reading over the Admiral's arm. "Could I see, perhaps?"

"It says… _First councilman of the Southern Water Tribe_." Bumi shrugged, completely unfazed. "Oh well—that didn't fit with the other word I put in."

The prince's face drew pale; clearly, the answer should've been the name of the Admiral's own uncle. "Do you follow _any_ of the clues?"

"Nope. Never have."

Just as Iroh glanced over and looked at what the first clue should've been, a knock came at the door; Chang turned to the men with a raised brow, still cooking their breakfast.

"Unless you gentlemen would _prefer_ a burnt crepe for breakfast, I'd strongly advise someone **else** go answer the door." The butler continued to toss the thin pancakes around in the frying pan. "Ms. Sato doesn't seem to be in the room, so that leaves the two of you."

The prince stood up sharply, nearly forgetting the pain in his foot as he placed half his weight on the injured surface. With a flinch, Iroh walked through the injury, and paced out to the foyer to answer the door.

As he drew the door inward, Korra nearly flew in from grasping onto the brass Lionturtle she had continued to knock with. Iroh's golden eyes widened, seeing the Avatar for the first time in the months since the Equalist Revolution.

"H-hey, Iroh!" She grinned, somewhat confused. "Did Asami hire you as her new butler? I never thought she'd get rid of that grumpy old-"

"No, I'm just filling in, Ms. Korra—Mr. Chang is in the kitchen at the moment." Iroh felt compelled to bow. "Is there anything I could assist you with?"

"Is Asami around?" Korra walked in, looking up and around the foyer. "If not, that's just as good—I need to check a few things out in her garage."

Iroh raised a brow curiously, not sure why Korra would want to look at Asami's garage without her friend. "I believe she's in the parlor, settling some business matter," the prince shook his head, suspicious of Korra's behavior. "I'll go fetch her now."

Korra tried to grab at Iroh's sleeve. "Wait, Iroh—it's really okay, I don't need her help to find what I need. I'll just be in and out, I promise."

"No, Ms. Korra—I really should inform her of your arrival," Iroh began to walk towards the hall that the parlor branched off of. "Feel free to get into whatever trouble you like, but know she'll be aware of your visit."

Iroh walked down the hall, Korra disappearing out of the corner of his eye; as he approached the parlor, he was surprised to see the door ajar; papers were tossed all over Asami's desk, with her nowhere to be found.

"A-_Asami_?" He asked, checking behind the desk and around the other places in the room. "Are you in here?"

The room was, in fact, entirely abandoned; worried, Iroh ran out the office and up the stairs to Asami's bedroom.

He gasped as he threw open the doors, overwhelmed by the mess of clothes thrown about the room. An open, abandoned suitcase indicated to him just what was happening; Asami was _leaving_, running away from her home.

…

* * *

_-Thank you so much for reading! I'd love some reviews, too! They're always appreciated-so are follows and favorites. My readers always keep me going! It's nice to know what you think, regardless of whether it's complements or criticism. (I'd actually love some criticism, by the way!)_

_I update once a week by Wednesday at the latest, so keep your eyes peeled! Thanks again for reading, of course. :)_


	15. Ch XV: To be Real

-Chapter XV-

_"I knew nothing but shadows and I thought them to be real."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

Wandering into the darkness of Asami's abandoned garage, Korra thought she could almost sense something sinister rising up from the depths of the estate. It didn't quite feel as though it were below the garage; rather, the sensation radiated from the tips of lush, thick green grass that covered the dirt across the ends of the estate.

As her thick boots grazed against the cement floor, Korra's eyes glanced around the small workshop, trying to find evidence of _something_. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but Korra knew there had to be a shard, a shred, a speck of something that would tell her that Asami had a degree of blame.

Perhaps it was the ominous presence hanging over the estate that drove Korra to her reassurance of her friend's degree of guilt; perhaps it was the damaged wrench resting on the wooden countertop just out of the corner of her eye.

Grasping in the shadows for a light switch, her hand clumsily knocked the tool off the counter, flying forcefully onto the toe of her shoe.

"Dammit-!" Korra grasped the switch in pain and flicked on the light, instantly bending down to comfort her foot. As she did so, Korra's eyes glanced towards the scuffed end of the same wrench Asami had swung at the clutch of her boyfriend's Satocycle. Her fingers cautiously reached forward, the pain in her toe numbing from the convenient distraction casually lying on the floor before her.

As her fingers grasped the wrench, she almost felt an electric shock; a hiss came from the tool, as though it did not wish for her to hold it. Korra yelped momentarily, startled by the sentient reaction from the inanimate object. Swiftly, she tossed it away from her.

"What the—_what the hell _was that?" Korra began to crawl over to the wrench once more, wanting to understand what she had just experienced. A metallic noise came from across the garage, and Korra scrambled to her feet just as the garage door began to open.

"Ms. Avatar?" Mr. Chang raised a brow, perplexed by Korra's presence in the garage. "The General asked me to come find you—what _on earth _are you doing in here?"

"Looking for something," Korra shrugged, trying to shove off the suggestion of her intrusion. "Say—you don't know if there's any open wires in here, do you? I just touched one of the tools on the floor, and it felt like I got an electric shock from it."

"Ms. Sato is very meticulous about maintaining the conditions in this garage—I highly doubt the tool had touched some sort of open wire, ma'am." The butler picked up the wrench from the floor, and walked over to place it in a toolbox. "Anyways—the General seems to theorize that m'lady has left the grounds, and we don't quite know where she has gone."

"R-really?" Korra's eyes widened, then glanced behind the butler to the toolbox he had placed the wrench in. "That's strange… where was she last seen?"

"In the parlor," Chang shook his head, then began to leave the garage. "We're not at the point at which we'd start a search party, if that's what you're wondering—she probably just left to run a few errands." As the butler reached the paved stone drive outside the small structure, he swiftly turned back to Korra. "By the way—that shock you experienced…. Just a theory, but it may have something to do with the odd, uh, _presences _I've sensed around the estate."

"Presences?" Korra frowned, recalling that the wrench had also made an odd noise when she took hold of it. "Do you mean _spirits_?"

The butler scoffed, then turned to walk towards the mansion once more. "Ms. Avatar—spirits _don't _scream like animals in the darkest times of the night. Nor do they fill a home with a sensation of heavy, stagnant shadows."

"I thought that was just Asami," Korra chuckled, remaining behind in the opening of the garage. "I'll catch up with Iroh in a minute—I just need to find what I was looking for."

As Chang proceeded to one of the vast rear doors of the mansion, Korra returned to the toolbox the butler had placed the wrench in. As she unlatched the box and reached for the tool, she almost swore she could hear it growl once more. Korra bit her lower lip, reluctantly taking the strange wrench just before she turned to run back to the mansion.

The scratches at the head of the tool seemed odd—the damage didn't seem to come from the drop to the floor. Instead, they looked metallic, dug into the piece with a slight transfer of a copper metal. As Korra reached the glass doorway, she placed the tool inside her sash, and pulled open the grand door.

_I found what I came here for_, Korra pondered, looking down the halls cautiously. _Why did I feel the need to come back in this awful place?_

As she reached the central parlor, she noticed the prince running in her direction from the hallway opposite her own. Curious, Korra stopped him. "Iroh—what's the rush?"

"I, I… I still can't find her. She's nowhere to be found—I've checked nearly every room in this accursed, enormous house," Iroh heaved, trying to catch his breath. "Bumi won't assist me—he's too busy with that awful crossword to be concerned. He thinks there's no reason to be worried."

"Why are _you_ worried?" Korra shook her head, folding her arms. "She's not a kid, Iroh—I'm sure Asami can take care of herself. She's always insisted she can, anyways… I'm sure she's just out doing something."

Korra glanced to the door, prepared to announce she was leaving as Iroh grabbed her shoulder. "She would've told me—Chang, _anyone_ where she was headed. It's very unlike her to do such a thing; the city is too dangerous to have no one aware of where you've gone."

Still focused on the impressive front doors, Korra's eyes slowly trailed up to the empty space above the portal, confused as to why the bare plaster wall intrigued her. "So—anyways, Iroh," she began, still looking up and away. "I'm gonna head out; I got a few errands of my own to run." Korra glanced back to the prince briskly, presenting a forced smile. "I'm sure she'll turn up soon, okay? Don't worry too much."

Iroh nodded, opening the vast front doors so the young avatar could leave the mansion. "Hopefully," he frowned. "I'm not too confident that she simply went out."

"Well," Korra turned back from the pale marble porch. "This is me—simply going out." Placing her fingers between her lips, she whistled sharply for Naga. "Girls do that sometimes, buddy." The Polarbear Dog braked on its paws sharply, coming to a perfect halt at the base of the white stone stairs. As Korra hopped on, she looked at Iroh once more. "Let up—live a little. You never know; everything you care about could be taken from you at any time, like a flash flood coming in and washing it all away before you've even realized it'd rained."

Iroh pursed his lips at the odd, somber comment as he watched the young woman ride away.

Down the block, Korra's thoughts lingered on something, too: she began to realize why the space above Asami's doors had held her curiosity.

"The _painting_," she muttered to herself between Naga's gallops, steering her companion downtown.

A knowing smirk drawing across her face, Korra headed for the Police Headquarters; Chief Beifong would probably be interested in the metal transfer buried in the cracks of the wrench.

…

Fragmented light poured in through the swiftly moving window, shattered into blinking pieces by the balding autumn trees of the inland Earth Kingdom forest. The side of her skull rested against the glass panel, pressing the roots of her locks of hair against the clear surface. Asami exasperated an exhausted sigh; the rough texture of the ride had nothing on the smooth, stable suspension of one of her Satomobiles, but that was hard to avoid with any train.

She stretched her arms forward, barely avoiding a collision with the dark leather seat in front of her. Even the business coach of the train was cramped, despite the lack in abundant passengers. Chuckling, Asami recalled that merely a few brief hours before, she had been drinking coffee with the Admiral.

As an attendant walked by and asked for her ticket, Asami held the thick paper out. "What's our estimated time of arrival, sir?"

"Seven-thirty," the uniformed man read her ticket, then tore off the lower corner. "So—with the current time being a few minutes past twelve, we'll be arriving in about seven hours."

"Thank you," Asami grinned, receiving the stub of her ticket. "Perchance, will there be any concession service in this coach?"

"They should be around soon, miss—give them an hour or so."

Asami nodded, then returned her focus out the window to the passing scenery. Her porcelain forehead pressed against the smooth glass, leaving a small, oily smudge as she rotated back to rest her head against the seat.

Though the air in the train couldn't compare to a fresh breeze, an aura about the place felt refreshing; the forced air through the vent above her was cool, despite the artificiality.

Leaning back, Asami considered her circumstances again; she had few possessions with her, only a purse full of a few small items and a change of clothes. Briefly, she fingered through the bag, counting the items she had with silent movements of her lips.

Her eyes widened, slowly considering she had forgotten something vital; Asami shuffled through the objects in a frantic rush; her mother's lipstick was not inside. "No, no _no_—" Asami muttered, lunging forward to the handbag in the seat beside her. As she bent over the armrest, the train shook violently; to prevent herself from flying forward, Asami swiftly jammed her foot into the seat in front of her.

In a panicked sigh, Asami reluctantly fell back into her seat. The lipstick wasn't there; she had left it back at home on her dresser. Before she could relax from the frustration of leaving one of her dearest possessions back home, the young man in the seat before her shot up and turned around.

"Excuse me, but are you not aware that this is the _business _coach? I paid quite a fair share of Yuans for this seat, and I'd appreciate if you didn't kick my…" The man's speech slowed, and his dark blue eyes widened—as Asami glanced up, she instantly recognized her father's old business partner.

"Verick?"

"Asami Sato!" A wide grin and chuckle was emphasized by his well-manicured, thin mustache. "Asami, I haven't seen you since… Well, I haven't seen you since you were still a little girl!"

Asami giggled warmly, slouching back in her leather seat. "That's right—the last time you visited Future Industries, I was… what, thirteen?"

"Sounds about right," he twirled his fingers, as though he too was trying to recall how long ago they had last seen each other. "Say—that'd make you, what, nineteen now?" The remark was emphasized with a coy raise of his brow. "Well, someone's a big girl now."

Attempting to brush off the flirtation, Asami changed the subject with a low chuckle. "What exactly are you doing in the middle of the Earth Kingdom? A bit far from home, aren't you?"

The businessman folded his arms at the top of the seat, resting his chin over them. "Things in the Capitol, you know—I'm heading back home now, matter of fact. Just headed to a port a bit north of Ba Sing Se," he shrugged through the inquisitive posture. "How about you? I thought Future Industries would've kept you back home, especially now that you're in charge."

Resting her head on her hand, Asami sighed lightly. "Just a personal vacation—it's hard to be told what to do when you're in charge." Her elbow grazed the cool glass of the window, prompting her to glance outside.

"Where to?" Verick's head tilted to the side curiously. "Ba Sing Se?"

Asami nodded gently, turning back to her old acquaintance. "Perhaps—I'm not quite sure how long I'll be staying, however."

Verick's dark blue eyes trailed down to the small handbag Asami had been fiddling with just before striking the back of his seat, wondering where the rest of her luggage was. The wooden bars above their seats contained only his briefcase. "Say—where are your things, Asami?"

Her eyes widened in embarrassment, realizing he had noticed she had barely anything with her. "Well, I intended to pick up a few new pieces in Ba Sing Se," Asami fibbed, trying to avoid the conversation of her fleeing from her home with no intention of returning. "I figured it'd be best to pack light."

Verick's forehead creased in disbelief, not accustomed to seeing any young woman travel so lightly. "Perhaps I could join you when we reach the inner wall?" He smiled sincerely, trying to show a sense of chivalry. "Wouldn't want a handsome young woman such as yourself wandering the _fashion_ district alone, right?"

An attendant arrived, asking for an order of food and beverages from the pair of executives.

"Ladies first," Verick teased, insisting Asami's order be taken before his own. "I'll have the same as what Ms. Sato orders anyways, ma'am."

Asami chortled, turning to the waitress with a cheerful grin. "I'll have… Well, do you serve mimosas?" She paused as the waitress nodded. "I'll have one of those—and perhaps a pastry of some sort?"

The server smiled, then continued down the row of the coach. Turing back to Verick, Asami noticed the older man glancing at her with an unusual expression.

"Something wrong?" Asami frowned slightly.

"N-no," the businessman grinned. "Not at all—however, would you mind if I moved to sit next to you to continue or conversation?" He stretched slightly, as though there were a pain in a part of his body she couldn't see behind the leather seat. "This posture I'm holding is rather uncomfortable, and I don't really want to return to my seated position and… _ignore_ you, for lack of a better word."

"Of course," Asami picked up her purse, sliding it under her legs to the floor. "I don't mind at all."

Verick eagerly swung around his own pair of seats to take the one next to her, bringing his elegant blue outfit into full view. "Good," he snickered, pushing back a wave of brown hair as he sat. "I wasn't prepared to accept _no_ as an answer. Now—about your trip to Ba Sing Se…"

Asami rolled her eyes teasingly. "Sure—you can come along then, too."

…

The detective delicately scraped the transferred metal out of the scratches in the wrench, placing the filings on a thin glass dish. Korra stood over his shoulder as he worked, curious as to how removing the foreign metal would help prove Asami's involvement in Mako's accident.

"What's that gonna do?" Korra pouted, thinking that the process would destroy the evidence she had found.

"I'm trying to isolate the compound of the foreign metals; it's a semi-soft metal, not unlike the material that the slip clutch was composed of. However, the density of the copper alloy in the gear and the steel of this wrench aren't too far off—it's odd that a metal that would leave this kind of damage would leave a transfer of filings. That's compelling enough to draw the conclusion that this wrench _may_ have been involved." The forensic officer turned to take an odd liquid in a bottle out of a nearby cabinet, and fetched a dropper on his way back to the dish of evidence. "However—we need to make sure that the copper alloy is as close to an exact match as possible; though all Satocycle slip clutches are made of the alloy, we want to make sure the copper inside that scratch wasn't from any other sources."

Korra nodded, barely following along. She briskly tapped the detective on the shoulder, then began to walk out of the room. "I'm going to go catch up with the Chief—tell me if you find anything interesting, okay?"

"Wait—you told me you already spoke with her," he frowned. "I won't test these samples if you haven't gotten her permission, like you _said_ you had."

"I did," Korra shrugged through her small fib. "I just wanted to go talk to her about some more personal things now—I guess I just misspoke."

The young Avatar ran out of the laboratory, then down the hall to Beifong's office; despite the lunacy of Chang's suspicions back at the estate, the missing painting had piqued Korra's curiosity about what was going on inside her friend's mansion.

"Lin?" Korra burst out as she dashed into the Chief's office without knocking. The older woman shot up in shock from her seat behind her desk, not expecting any visitors.

"Korra!" She barked, wrinkling her brow in exhaustion. Before Korra's explosive entrance into her personal space, Lin had been on the verge of dozing off; the papers required to document the death of an officer in the field were tedious and time consuming. "Do you _not_ know how to beat your fist against wood? It's this common decency called knocking…"

"Sorry, I just… I think I discovered something."

"And what would that be, the need to impose on everyone's personal time?"

"You're at work, Chief—aren't you on the clock?" Korra's head cocked to the side, followed by a violent shake of her hands. "Anyways, I… I don't have any genuine proof yet, but I visited Asami's house earlier. There's some _odd_ stuff going on there, Lin." Korra shook her head slowly. "Last time I was there, Asami was really off—but it was just her butler today, and I definitely noticed something was really different."

"Your _point_?" Lin rubbed her temple in frustration, glancing down to a mound of papers resting on her bureau. "Korra, I _know_ you're in grief—but I don't think _bad vibes_ from Asami's home serves as a motive for murder… unless you're intending to blame the mansion itself."

"Well, what if…" Korra paused, trying to find a logical way to present her argument to the Chief. "_Look_, we all know there's spirits out there. What if something evil found its way into Asami's house? The last time I saw her, she seemed almost… possessed."

"Well, if there's bad spirits inside, I can't quite arrest them and hold a trial." Lin shook her head. "Honestly? That responsibility actually falls to _your_ lap, not mine."

Korra sighed heavily, pacing around the dark cement and stone office. "I found a wrench with suspicious damage on it—I took it to one of your forensic guys already, too—but something weird happened when I tried to pick that thing up back at Asami's home."

"And what would that be, exactly? Did a spirit come out of it?" Lin chortled. "I'd hardly expect a common tool to be a bridge to another dimension."

"No," Korra frowned at Lin's condescending tone. "It… hissed at me. And shocked me, like it was attached to a live wire."

"Well, that _is_ strange—but I can't really interrogate a wrench, can I?"

"Maybe if we took it back to her place," Korra muttered, deep in thought. "Maybe if I tried to talk to it there…"

Lin frowned, taken aback by Korra's serious reception of her sarcastic remark. "Korra, I'm _not_ going to talk to a wrench about your boyfriend's death."

"I didn't _ask_ you to," Korra lowered her eyes momentarily, then glanced back up to the Chief with a determined glare. "But I'm going to find out what's going on at that mansion—something inside me keeps telling me the answer is there."

The Chief sighed, realizing she couldn't talk the young Avatar out of it. "Two things before you run off to accuse one of your _last_ friends of harboring evil spirits—first, I want you to ask yourself if this is what he'd want you doing." Lin frowned, wondering how deep Korra's grief had gone if she had begun to blame spiritual forces. "The second thing; realize that if you are caught and accused of trespassing, I _will _have to arrest you."

As the young woman dashed out her office door as quickly as she had entered, Lin stretched her arms out and back, pulled her feet up to the surface of the desk, and shut her eyes.

"_Headstrong_ girl," Lin muttered, just as her phone began to ring.

…

* * *

_-Thanks for reading! I update my story once a week, always by Wednesday at the latest. I really love getting reviews and knowing what my readers think, so please send them! Follows and favorites are always appreciated, too-it's good to know that people like what I've been writing. _

_Anyways, I hope you liked the introduction of Verick! I promise, he won't mess with Irosami... much. ;) I feel like I'll have lots of fun with him. But definitely send those reviews, I'd love to know what you think... and keep your eyes open next Wednesday!_


	16. Ch XVI: The Hardest Flame

-Chapter XVI-

_"Life is a moment. There is no hereafter. So make it burn always with the hardest flame."_

_ -Oscar Wilde_

…

Glancing up at the cloudless pale sky of Ba Sing Se, Asami felt as though she were almost in a foreign land; the buildings seemed ancient, their pale beige stones lining the sandstone streets reminded her of ruins, with the exception of the cheerful inhabitants clad in fine green linens.

Mystified by the city's old world charms, Asami nearly forgot she had a companion on her journey through the narrow streets.

"Hey, Asami—you know the fashion district is to the west, right?" Verick placed a gloved hand gently on her shoulder, breaking the trance Ba Sing Se had over her. "Assuming you'd like to visit some of the higher end shops, at least."

"Oh—of course," Asami grinned, shaking her head vigorously as the spell over her broke away. "Yes, I suppose we should head in that direction. I… I just haven't been to this place in quite some time; it's nice to be reminded of how beautiful it is."

Slowly turning to one of the streets that would lead them to their desired destination, the older business executive shoved his hands into his pockets diligently, growing more and more curious about Asami's decision to spontaneously leave her home for a vacation.

As the pair arrived in the ancient city some time ago, Verick had wanted to remark on the apparent lack of a motive or plan Asami had. Reluctantly, as they walked across the station's beige platform, he remained silent. Now, that same curiosity irked him to no avail.

Her delicate arms folded behind her back as the paced down the new avenue and her eyes glancing up at the intricate architecture above, Asami carried on as though nothing was out of place. In fact, things here seemed to be realigning themselves in a flawless order; the parasitic presence was gone entirely, vaporized by the staggering distance between her current location and her home.

His brow furrowed, Verick caught up with Asami, walking in pace with her own steps. "Say, dollface—you never quite explained _why_ you wanted to up and leave your home."

Her head cocked back slightly, as if she looked at him through her left ear.

Asami considered the various _honest_ reasons she had left; first, the peculiar suicide of her former love interest, then the slow, overwhelming control the parasite had over her… Mako's accident seemed like a minor issue in comparison to the final reason, however—Asami _feared_ herself.

She was terrified of what she was capable of.

A kind smile drew across her face gradually, turning to greet Verick with her full insincerity. "Sometimes you just need to get away, right? Everything gets… _overwhelming_, to say the least. I left because I felt like it."

"Well, I can't blame you… however, there's an extent to which an impulse seems to go too far," Verick frowned, recalling Asami mentioning she didn't know when she'd return. "That loan I wired to you all those months ago… I'd like to get reimbursed when you get Future Industries turned around. You need to be there to ensure that happens." The blue-cloaked man stopped his train of thought, suddenly distracted by a handsome blazer in the window of the first fashionable store in a row of many expensive designer boutiques. "Say—now _that's_ a fine jacket," the businessman chortled, almost tempted to run right in.

A fine gown in a window across the street grasped onto Asami's attention, clad in shimmering sequins and ebony lace sleeves. Curious, she drew closer, turning back to notice Verick was still tempted to visit the store he was curious about. "Hey—I'm going to look inside this store, okay?" Asami shouted across the street, heading for the glass door.

"Sure, okay, I'll just be in here, I suppose." Verick shrugged, attempting to mask his excitement to look over the stock of the mensware shop.

An airy bell rang as Asami pushed to door open, her narrow shoes grazing across a soft red carpet. She found herself proceeding in cautiously, fascinated by the array of gorgeous evening gowns filling the shop's aisles.

Her pale fingers reached out unconsciously, grasping onto the textures and colors of the store. A short, stubby woman seemed to gravitate towards the young, dark-haired customer, eager to assist Asami in any way to persuade her to a sale.

"Can I help you with anything, miss?" the older store owner folded her hands together pleasantly.

Asami's head turned sharply, startled by the sudden, short proprietor's appearance. "O-oh, uh, I'm just browsing at the moment," Asami shook her head, forcing an embarrassed smile. "I'll let you know if I need anything."

Losing time in her cautious shopping, Asami hadn't even realized how long she had been in the store when another ring came to the bells of the door. She had found on a rack the same dress displayed in the window, and was curiously browsing through the available sizes.

"Hey, Asami-!" Verick appeared before her, a small brown bag behind his thigh in one hand. "I ran into an acquaintance in the store across the street—he informed me of an event of sorts going on tonight in the inner city."

Asami raised a brow, turning to Verick with a low chuckle. "A party, you mean?"

"Only the _highest_ of Ba Sing Se society, of course," Verick's composure broke into a brief smirk. "I assure you—it'll be quite the social event. Of course, it'd be nice to have someone with which to attend such a party."

Pursing her lips, Asami had been attempting to talk herself out of such an impractical dress the whole time. It was no gown for travel; she didn't have the budget for such a luxury. "I _imagine_ it would," she frowned, replacing the black dress on the rack. "It's too bad that I couldn't afford such an event."

"Why so?" Verick leaned against one of the dress racks, eyeing the gown she had just put back in place.

"Well… I need to save the Yuans I have for something that makes more sense than a gown, honestly." Asami shook her head, turning towards some of the more practical clothing in the rear of the store. Her jade eyes turning back to notice Verick staring at the same gown, a jolt of power ran up her spine.

A teasing smile drew across her face as she toyed with a brown leather jacket, a finger peeking inside to feel the satin interior. "_Unless_, of course…" Asami paused, taking the jacket off the hanger to try it on. "…You'd like to finance such an event _for_ me."

…

The parasite knew it couldn't be seen by the demonic eyes beneath the brown canvas tarp; yet it felt the need to curl up next to the covered painting of what it perceived to be its master. The creature—_the spirit_ had been abandoned, and felt as though it was weakening without an appropriate host.

The low grumbles that came from the portrait beneath the tarp were as close to a normal conversation the presence could hold with another sentient being; such animalistic noises were hard to interpret, but the slug began to sense it was onto some form of comprehension.

From beneath the canvas, the portrait made a noise.

_What? What do you mean?_

Another grumbling sound came from it, and the parasite drew closer to the tarp.

_I can't take that off of you. You know that. I would if I could, but I don't have __**physical hands**__, you dolt._

A low, demonic roar rumbled through the secluded room; the dark slug jumped back, frightened by the radiating, ominous power which came from the painting.

_Fine, fine, fine—I'll try to get that oblivious butler down here. Will that shut you up?_

The painting seemed to simply inhale, exhale, inhale, then exhale once more. With a shrug, the parasite crawled through the thick cement wall, and up to the room of the estate's sole inhabitant.

With a choke, Chang woke up with a start—he knew something felt _different_.

…

Iroh's gloved hands slammed down on the desk of the Chief of Police threateningly, infuriated with the lack of cooperation he had received from an individual he perceived as nearly being one of Asami's friends.

"What do _you mean_ you can't do anything about it? She's missing, I just know it, I..." Iroh's hands rose up to his temples, as if they'd form a barrier between the impending waves of pain.

"I can't do anything about it because she's been _gone_ for only thirty-six hours," Lin snapped back to the prince. "Note my use of _gone_—I highly doubt Asami is missing. It's a big city, you know."

"By the time we reach your full forty-eight hours rule, she'll be too far for us to track effectively." Iroh shook his head, folding his arms over each other in frustration. "_Spirits_, she could've even been kidnapped—Agni knows any of those gangs that plague this lawless city hold enough motive simply because of her money."

Lin stood from desk, her arms crossed behind her back. "You know, it's hard to ransom someone if you kidnapped the one _in charge_ of the finances."

Iroh blinked in embarrassment, not wanting to acknowledge the flaw in his logic. "Well—she could've still disappeared by some other means…"

"In fact, General—if any gangster _wanted_ to extort Ms. Sato, I'd theorize they'd kidnap **you** instead." The Chief stared out the lone window in her office momentarily, then quickly paced over to a file cabinet in the corner of the dark cement room. "Spirits, the tabloids released a story just this morning about spotting the Crowned Prince of the Fire Nation sitting awfully close in a bar to the Future Industries CEO. It'd be almost second-nature to assume you two are… _involved_." Lin removed a file from her cabinet, and placed it on her desk. With a silent gesture, she asked the prince to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of her bureau.

"What's that for?" Iroh's brow raised, curious about the contents of the file.

"It's something you may think is entirely unrelated to your primary concerns at the moment, but I feel you may have useful information." Beifong opened the file, and began to flip through photos of Mako's accident. "Now, this may seem like a stretch to you, Prince Iroh… but I'm just trying to connect the dots between some baseless accusations within a certain case. Asami's… current _status_ did pique my curiosity here, but you don't need to tell me anything you don't feel comfortable sharing."

Iroh shook his head, slightly confused. "Whatever do you mean by that?"

"Avatar Korra theorizes that the tragic death of one of my officers may be related to either Ms. Sato or something going on at Ms. Sato's estate," Lin began, reviewing the haphazard, confusing notes she had taken from her last conversation with Korra. "Do you have any reason to believe that the Sato estate may be… uh, _haunted_?" The word left a bitter, unpleasant taste in Lin's mouth; it sounded like complete nonsense to her. "Either that, or any unusual behavior from Ms. Sato worth note?"

"Besides her _missing_?" Iroh frowned, immediately wanting to disregard the thought of anything being wrong with Asami or her home. "Of course not. Perhaps you should have Korra visit a physician—she visited Asami's home just around the time that Asami disappeared, and **she** was the one who seemed off."

Lin scribbled something on her paper, topping the end of the sentence with an obvious question mark. "Of course, General," Lin looked up from the file. "I'll have my officers get on that within the hour; we'll make an exception for the forty-eight hour rule just this once."

The note at the bottom of the paper within her file read something quite specific:

_Prince Iroh—possible denial? _

…

* * *

-_Hey guys! Sorry this chapter is so late. I've had a terribly busy week with preparing for finals... Anyways, I hope you liked the chapter! I'm sorry it's short, too, but... I'm trying to set up a few specific events that are yet to come. :3 _

_Anyways, I always love reviews! Please, please, please tell me what you think. Follows and favorites are nice, too-I like to know that you're enjoying what you're reading. _


	17. Ch XVII: The Soul

-Chapter XVII-

_"Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul."  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

The passing of the seasons comes so easily to one who never ages; winters passes as though hours, summers pass as though only composed of minutes.

Yet, there was no spring nor autumn in this barren abode. A few brief miles from the northernmost pole of her world, she remained alone.

In her crude isolation, Asami recalled her last contact with common society as she prepared a new grape flavored small cigar—the grandiose party, convoluted with luxury and vapid, arrogant individuals. Now, she resided in a quiet mansion, constructed patiently over the years with granite drawn from deep beneath the solid glacial surface the expansive home rested upon.

The nearby locals were also isolated from all of society; they had no clue _who_ she was, save for the fact that she seemed ageless to them, but paid them generously to assist her with any further construction she had desired over the decades.

It had, in fact, _been_ decades. Not even Verick knew where she was; he was possibly too old to care.

The immense driftwood doors to the foyer were a nautical version of the ones that reminded the lady of her childhood home; as Asami passed through the foyer to her cozy kitchen, a strong knock came to the same doors.

There was no butler here—Asami opened one of the doors on her own. "Hello?"

A local man stood outside, someone she realized she had seen grown up. He was six years old when she arrived; now, he had to be a few years short of thirty.

"Miss—I, we just received this from the transcontinental express, and I believe it's something you need to see."

The familiar cigarillo between her index and middle finger, a ring of ash began to burn down as Asami took the dated newspaper from the man in horror.

_"The Republic's Oldest Mystery—What Happened to Asami Sato?"_

The headlining story seemed entirely unfair, painting her out to be some sort of kidnapped victim, or possibly buried at the bottom of Yue Bay. Her pulse began to race as her eyes ran over the names she hadn't heard in ages: _Exclusive interviews with her last known associates: Fire Lord Iroh II, Admiral Bumi, Avatar Korra, and Sir Verick, Esq. on the twentieth anniversary of the heiress's disappearance. _

She knew that didn't sound right—she had fled the city in late autumn, early winter. Summer in the Northern Pole was just a week away. It had been _twenty-one_ years, not twenty; but as Asami considered the delay of mail arriving to the small village a mile from her home, she realized _why_ the young man had brought her the paper.

"Mister… Densno, right-?" Asami raised a brow, trying to feign obtuseity. "Why have you brought me this?" The locals knew Asami as Lady Mizuko—her own mother's name, but she had never provided them a surname.

Twiddling his thumbs, the young man stumbled over his words before pointing to the image of _her_ just below the large emboldened headline. "Well, Ms. Mizuko—I, I just thought the young lady here possessed a striking resemblance to yourself. Are you related to her?" He paused, shrinking down in his seal-fur coat. "…She's also the last heir to that automobile company, and pretty rich, just like… you."

"What exactly do you believe you're _insinuating_, young man?" Asami frowned, tucking the paper under her arm to bring the fading cigarillo to her crimson lips.

"The elders…" he backed off, a subtle fear glazing over his iced blue eyes. "…They talk about you, Ms. Mizuko. They say…"

Asami raised a brow in response, saying nothing.

"…They say you're a demon, an evil spirit who never ages, despite your benevolence to our village."

"The elders are probably infirm, falling ill with dementia," Asami shook her head coyly, a gentle smile crossing her face. "I may not look it, young man—but I'm only thirty-nine."

With a pleasant smile, she shut the door, taking the dated newspaper inside with her. Curiously, she flipped to the first interior page.

…

**Interviewer**: (_to all_) "So, what do you believed happened to the heiress?"

**Fire Lord Iroh, II**: "Personally, I want to believe she's still alive."

**Admiral Bumi**: " –While I'm still more inclined to think she's long gone—dead, that is. The Future Industries Empire is waiting for a queen that'll never return."

**Int**: "Ms. Avatar, what about you?"

**Avatar Korra**: (_shrugs_) "I'm with Bumi, I think she's dead. In the year after her disappearance, Chief Lin Beifong and I did an extensive investigation into all her accounts—nearly all the money she had made back after Hiroshi screwed the company over was gone, leaving Future Industries broke all over again. Someone probably kidnapped her, made her ransom herself, and then killed her afterwards."

**Sir Verick, Esq**.: "Yet I, as the last one in this group to have seen her, am far more inclined to believe she's alive."

**Int**: "When was that last time you saw her, Verick?"

**V**: "Apparently, I was with her just after her disappearance was reported in Republic City. Beifong tried to accuse me, but I had a pretty tight alibi—Asami and I had attended one of the Earth King's lavish parties together on the last night anyone saw her. The Earth King himself vouched for me—I remained at the palace until morning, and the last time anyone saw the Heiress was around one in the morning."

**I**: "I think she was on the run from something. Why else would she have been in Ba Sing Se?"

**Int**: "What exactly do you have in mind, your highness?"

**I**: "Recent investigations into the state of the Sato mansion seem to find the place stifled with the supernatural—the only inhabitant is the same butler that's been there for thirty-five years, and he apparently only goes into the house to dust when he absolutely _has_ to."

**B**: "Hell, maybe the _butler_ did it. Agni knows no one ever investigated him."

**V**: "I highly doubt Ms. Sato's butler came to Ba Sing Se to extort her, Admiral."

**I**: "Who says anything actually happened to her in Ba Sing Se? You can't say that for sure, Verick."

**Int**: "Now—wait, what was that about… ghosts? Spirits?"

**K**: "The Sato Estate is completely haunted. Check it out for yourself if you like, but I really don't recommend messing with that place. There's something… _evil_ there. Spirits I can handle—demons are something else entirely."

**Int**: "Avatar Korra, what exactly do you think happened there? There's been stories about your attempts to communicate with the spirits in the estate over the years."

**K**: "I know it seems like I should be the one to have those kinds of answers—but to tell you the truth, even I don't know. Her mother was murdered in that house, her father built machines of war and killing under it—there's lots of fractures and pain there that'd attract something malevolent. But what exactly _is_ it? I really can't say."

As Asami sat at the bench of her piano, she continued on through the article; the reporter changed into a more traditional format.

_A catalyst for mystery in our modern Republic_, Asami Sato remains a beacon of wonder to every citizen—the estate is constantly asked to be opened to the public, yet the lone butler believes the grounds to be too unsafe because of the paranormal presences that haunt the mansion.

_The Lost Heiress_ herself remains a fashion icon; the rare photos of her have been treasured as a token of beauty for all to aspire to. Yet the Fire Lord himself, known colloquially as the _Virgin King, _(simply because of his lack of a wife—the actual status of his sexual life is often a topic of debate) insists there should be one image of Asami that remains and does her true justice; a portrait he did of her himself months before she was removed from our plane of existence.

_The painting_, just as the heiress herself, has never been found.

_An urban legend within Republic City_ holds that if one were to discover the Portrait of Asami Sato, the lost queen of Future Industries would too be found.

Asami placed the article beside her on the burnt leather bench, removed the smoldering grape cigarillo from the bone carved ash tray from a nearby flat surface of the instrument, and began to somberly play her treasured piano.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to be discovered.

The portrait hadn't been found—why would she?

…

"With all due respect—you don't belong here, Fire Lord," Korra turned to the regal figure dressed in crimson red, escorted by a pair of guards. "I don't think _she_ would've wanted it."

A procession of familiar faces laid out before them; after over thirty years of running the city, the chief of police had passed away.

"Why would that be?" Iroh raised a somber brow to the surly avatar, with which he had grown a strong distaste for over the years.

"She still thought you were responsible to this day," Korra pursed her lips. "Not that I _actually_ cared if you had something to do with it—but Lin sure did."

The heavy late-spring air hovered above as a wrinkled, elderly Tenzin began to give some form of speech, a rant about the impermanence of all creations and the inevitability of moving on.

Standing away from the rest of the mourners, Korra continued to stare the middle-aged emperor down—his whole reputation to her was just a farce, feigning a sense of care for someone she personally hoped was long gone from her earth.

"I know she killed _him_, too."

Iroh shook his head in frustration, wishing to deny any possibility of such a thing. "You're delusional, Korra. After all these years, you think she could still have caused something that was such an obvious accident?"

"Of _course_ I do," Korra spat, pressing into the Fire Lord's personal space before the pair of guards rushed forward and pushed her back. "Agni, it's probably her own cursed, despicable, wretched soul that makes that dusty old mansion so haunted. She…" Korra paused, acknowledging that what she was thinking would cause Iroh some great pain.

It was the same kind of pain she had dealt with for twenty years; he didn't deserve to have any kind hope.

"…You know, your _majesty_," Korra smirked, finally vocalizing a theory she had held for quite some time. "Some great old shamans have theorized that the most malevolent spirits come from those who take their own lives."

The old airbender cleared his throat over the noise the arguing pair had generated a few dozen feet away. "And—as my father always taught me: all things come to an end. It's the way life works—without an end, we may never have another beginning." Glancing back down to the crowd, he spoke as clearly as his voice could carry.

"We cannot live always in the light of _day_; to appreciate the beauty life gives us, we must equally respect and accept our passing on to another place, another form, another life."

The elderly man clad in orange robes closed the old tome in his hands as the solid metal coffin was lowered into the black marble crypt with a flying pig carved on the front of the vault.

"As such, even the Beifong clan must come to an end; but never in fear, simply in peace and acceptance," Tenzin lowered his head. "Lin would never want us to mourn her in sorrow—instead, simply remember her in joy."

…

* * *

-_sorry for such a long break! I had a lot of stressful stuff going on with finals at school and coming back home to work for the summer. But thanks again for your patience, I promise I won't have such a long hiatus from this story until it's done ;_; we're almost there, though... the end is very near! _

_I always love to get reviews! In fact, it was a wonderful, sweet review I got earlier today that motivated me to finish this chapter-I had a bit of it worked on, but I never got around to finishing it. :c _

_So please, __**please**__ tell me what you're thinking! It keeps me going to know what you think about my story. Follows and favorites are awesome too! And thanks again for sticking around long enough to read this long story. :3_


	18. Ch XVIII: Wake Their Ashes into Pain

-Chapter XVIII-

_"She is all the great heroines of the world in one. She is more than an individual. I love her, and I must make her love me. I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter, and grow sad. I want a breath of our passion to stir dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain. "  
― Oscar Wilde_

…

Securing a lock of hair behind her right ear, Asami paced around the icy mansion, considering something she considered outrageous.

_I could return. I could do it. I could go back, no one would truly know who I am anymore. _

She knew deep down that this was far-fetched; her face was well-known, but more likely, people would think they had simply seen a look-alike, a ghost, a coincidental reflection of the past.

They'd all expect her to look almost forty.

Asami sat down in a homely chair, resting her face in her hands. It was almost too much to consider, returning home. She felt as though something was drawing her back there after reading through the belated paper, not just a spirit, but an entire _presence_.

Maybe it wasn't even home—not Republic City, not her mansion.

It was _him_.

He was why she had to go back; he should've married, he should've moved on, he should've done so much _more_. She was holding him back.

If there was anything Asami felt she could do for him, it was to see him again—and somehow compel him to simply _let go_. Twenty years of waiting for someone was too much; she couldn't age. She'd never age. Asami would always look nineteen.

Her eyes flashing up with sudden determination, Asami dashed up the rickety stairs of the rural estate to her room, and then did something she felt she had done many times before; she gathered her personal possessions, throwing what she only felt she'd truly need in a large handbag.

Behind the makeshift estate was a small hangar; inside was a small biplane she had been working on for half of the last decade. Parts were difficult enough to find; fuel was nearly impossible.

Perhaps she'd stop by the Northern Tribe capital on the way, find a quick petroleum stop on her way south.

Asami slung the bag over into the passenger seat of the biplane, and wheeled the machine out onto the barren ice runway. Orienting herself to the cardinal directions by glancing up at the direction of the sun, Asami stepped around the machine and cranked the propeller.

She needed to head southwest; hopefully she wouldn't lose herself on the way to the Fire Nation. Hopping up into the cockpit, Asami checked all her gauges one last time, and began to steer down the runway.

This time, she remembered her lipstick. She wouldn't want to forget that again.

…

A vase of early Summer Gardenias rested upon his ornate wood desk, drooping slightly with the overwatering the Firelord had given the plant. Glancing up from his paperwork, Iroh lifted the head of the flower up as an encouragement, but it swiftly returned to its drooping position once his finger left the bloom.

With a heavy sigh, the middle-aged man glanced back down to the bureaucratic documents resting aimlessly on his desk, then up at the vase again. Just as the ruler began to slump down to rest his forehead on the flat surface, a sudden harsh nock came to his chamber's door.

"My Lord!" A servant burst into the room. "There's—there's something strange going on outside, I think you need to come see."

"What exactly are you talking about?" Iroh frowned. "What'd be so important that you need me to come see?"

"A…" the servant stammered, trying to explain. "She—there's a girl… She's _flown_ into the exterior courtyard."

_A girl?_ Iroh paused, his eyes growing wide. It wasn't possible. Not just because there was so little room to land—but a girl? Why would the servant say a _girl_? "That's not possible," he muttered, standing to walk out of the room. "What you're saying is complete nonsense."

As his feet paced quickly down the hall, Iroh listened to the heartbeat-like echo against the marble floors—_tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap._

The noise was quickly overrun by a low hum of a biplane, a sputtering murmur, reverberating through the halls from the expansive, exterior courtyard.

And then, it felt as though everything froze before him—not only was this completely impossible, it had to be an illusion, some outrageous mistake of reality, some alternate timeline in which only **he** had changed.

Raising his hand up to feel the aging in his face, Iroh stepped forward, his jaw lowering further and further as he drew closer and closer to the young woman in a long fur coat standing by the plane.

As the machine shut off completely, she turned around swiftly, the long locks of hair following as though set on a delay.

There were only a few logical conclusions he could draw in his head; the first, far more reasonable understanding was that she had left him, had a daughter no less than a year later, and he was somehow face to face with this… _child_.

The second, far more outlandish conclusion was that Asami Sato, who by all definitions should be about _thirty-nine_, had somehow never **_aged_**.

He didn't know what to say. Instead of stepping closer to the young woman, as a powerful urge in his mind drove him to do, he turned away.

"You're trespassing," Iroh barked as he began to walk back towards the palace. "I don't know why my servants have had you come out to tell you that, miss."

The girl's light green eyes drawing wide as the monarch began to leave her presence, she briefly considered running after him; her hand raised up, but she choked it back and let it fall to her side.

"I'm sorry, Iroh... I'll go, if you want me to." She began to walk back to the plane, then started to crank up the propeller again.

His paces stopped upon hearing his first name, then Iroh raised a single hand. "No—that won't be necessary. _Stay_. I'd… like to discuss things with you later… _Ms. Sato_."

He wasn't even sure if the Sato he was talking to was the one he knew, but he glanced over his shoulder to catch her reaction. Noticing how wide her eyes grew upon hearing that surname, Iroh almost thought he could hear her mutter something in response.

"…You can still call me _Asami_, Iroh. I always hated it when you called me _Ms. Sato_."

…

Asami found herself escorted down the golden halls by a servant to one of the many expansive bed chambers inside the palace, her single handbag of possessions still slung over her fur-coated shoulder.

"Listen—I'm sorry about any damage to the gardens the plane may have caused," Asami started, trying to force conversation with the servant. She had been away from civilization for so long, it felt, that she had almost forgotten how to display proper manners.

"Not a problem, ma'am. His highness seems to be fine with it, so you can move it to some better place whenever you're comfortable with it." The servant pulled open a set of double doors, and led Asami in, offering to take her bag.

Asami shook her head and instead threw the small luggage onto the bed, which was followed by her throwing herself on the expansive, king-sized mattress. "Thanks for your help," the young woman raised a hand in the air, slowly letting her eyes flutter closed. She hadn't slept in twenty hours—the flight had been non-stop since her fill-up in the Northern Water Tribe's capital.

Her consciousness felt as though it became enveloped in a black sand, her mind almost instantly drifting off to sleep.

It felt as though hours had passed, maybe even a whole day, but as Asami awoke, she found herself under a blanket and out of her coat; the far older Iroh had dosed off on a couch across the room.

Her eyes blinked strongly, trying to reassure herself he wasn't actually there; but in fact, he unquestionably was, and had fallen asleep sitting up. The darkness streaming in through the nearest window, which had earlier been nothing more than dusk, told her it had _hopefully_ just been hours.

As Asami sat up, he stirred in his sleep. Startled, thinking he was reacting to her, the young woman froze—simply watching from a distance.

"_I'm sorry_," she muttered, pulling her knees up into her chest. "I really _am_, Iroh."

…

* * *

_-Again, sorry for the delay in chapters! I've been working two jobs this summer, so I haven't had a whole lot of time... But the story is almost over, so hopefully it'll end with a bang! _

_Please please please leave reviews, I love to know what you're thinking! Follows and favorites are always encouraging, too. Thanks again for reading!_


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